You Know Why
by becca3891
Summary: My story begins with the final Thomas/Jimmy scene from the season 3 Christmas special, told from Jimmy's perspective in chapter 1, and Thomas's in chapter 2. The story will be about their friendship, which just might be heading toward something more as Jimmy attempts to sort out his confused emotions. The content will eventually be more mature, so don't give up at the slow start!
1. Chapter 1

Knocking on Mr. Barrow's door took all the courage I had, and then some. I had been avoiding him as long as I could, but my guilt wouldn't let me wait any longer. Like him or not, Mr. Barrow had saved me from his own painful fate, and I had run away. Funny thing was, Alfred and I had spent all year sneering behind Mr. Barrow's back, saying things like, "Better hope no burglar ever breaks in below stairs – Mr. Barrow'd try to kiss him instead of fighting him." Guess I turned out to be the real coward, though.

One time, Mr. Bates, His Lordship's valet, overheard Alfred and I and spoke most sharply: "Mr. Barrow served his country in the war and he does not deserve that kind of talk from two foolish boys."

Mr. Bates and Mr. Barrow aren't exactly best friends from what I can see, but I guess they get along better than I get on with Mr. Barrow. As far as I'm concerned, I can't put too much distance between us after what happened last year. I've never been more disgusted in my life than I was when I woke up to find Mr. Barrow's lips on mine. I never thought I'd meet a real live poof, and one who couldn't keep his hands off me, no less. It's a night I wish I could forget. But I think about it every time I look at Mr. Barrow.

"What are you doing up here?" Mr. Barrow asked me as I finally entered the room. He put his newspaper aside.

"I just wanted to make sure there wasn't too much harm done," I answered, barely able to meet his eyes. This was excruciating.

"There was enough harm done," Mr. Barrow said wryly, indicating his numerous wounds. I considered what to say next. I had to swallow my pride and thank the man who had stepped in on my behalf.

"You were brave, Mr. Barrow… very brave," I said after a pause that felt like ages.

He shook his head slightly in response, looking thoughtful. He didn't seem to know what to say next, so I continued.

"I feel badly…I shouldn't have run off."

"No, you should have," Mr. Barrow answered, wincing as he changed positions. "Otherwise, what was I bloody doing it for?"

I wondered if, were the situation reversed, I would have done the same for Mr. Barrow. The answer was no and it made me even more ashamed. The silence grew and I had to fill it with something, so I asked the question that I'd been wondering all day.

"Were you following me?"

Mr. Barrow's eyes were impossible to read.

"I had to keep an eye out," he said, offering a smile. "I could see you'd had a bit to drink, and so… Yes. Yes, I did follow you."

I'd never been in such a strange situation, never in my whole life. I'd spent a whole year hating this man, building him up in my mind as a predator of the worst variety, an unnatural freak. I figured poofs didn't really care about anybody, just wanted to have their way with any man in their path. But that didn't explain why he would go out of his way to rescue me. Was he looking out for me as an under butler protecting a footman, or as a man who wanted me in his debt for sinister purposes? I had to know.

"Why?"

"You know why," Mr. Barrow spat out, his normally smooth voice raspy with emotion. His face gave him away. In it, I saw the longing of a lonely man. I recognized the loneliness because it also stared back at me each day when I looked in the mirror. But I also saw in his face wistful desire. Desire for me, for my body. Uneasiness settled over me, and emotions I couldn't define flooded my brain. One thing I did know: I was unsettled and I was scared, and I needed to set the record straight. I pulled up a chair and moved a little closer to Mr. Barrow.

"I can never give you what you want," I finally managed to say, feeling a little silly even as I said it. The man had given no indication that he expected anything of that nature from me, never since that night.

"I understand that, I – I do," he said quietly, not meeting my eyes. Then he faced me. "And I don't ask for it. But I'd like it if we could be friends."

Friends? What would Alfred say, I worried? But I could hardly refuse the man. He was black and blue and covered in wounds, all received on my account. Giving him the cold shoulder would hardly be reasonable. So I made up my mind

"Right you are, Mr. Barrow," I answered, and he broke into an immediate smile. "If that's all, I think I can manage that."

Mr. Barrow's face registered pure happiness.

"Thank you, Jimmy. Thank you," he said with great feeling, and I felt myself smiling in return. I knew I'd done the right thing.

Mr. Barrow reached for the newspaper on the bedside table.

"Make yourself useful and read the paper," he grinned as he handed it over.

I knew he had changed the subject to lighten the mood and put me at ease, and I appreciated it. This new friendship was going to take a little getting used to. I began reading the day's headlines aloud, adding my own silly commentary from time to time. Mr. Barrow laughed easily at my attempts at humor and before I knew it, nearly an hour had passed.

I looked at my watch and leaped to my feet. "Mr. Carson will be sending up a search party for me before long!" I exclaimed.

"I shouldn't have kept you," Mr. Barrow apologized. "But I do thank you, Jimmy."

"It's me that should be thanking you, Mr. Barrow," I replied sheepishly, folding the newspaper and handing it back. "I owe you."

He shook his head, smiling again, and settled back against the pillows. His eyes looked distant and lonely again. Awkwardly, I moved my chair back to its original position and cleared my throat. What should I say in parting?

"I'll come back up tomorrow morning to see how you're getting on," I finally managed, and turned on my heel to depart before he could reply. My head was whirling with emotions again and I had to get out of there. What had just happened? Was I really friends with a poof? And why didn't that bother me the way I imagined it should?

As I tossed in bed that night, my mind could think of no one but Mr. Barrow. My friend, Mr. Barrow. I'd never had a friend before, not really. I squeezed my eyes shut and I saw his face, lighting up with joy. I drifted off to sleep, and in my dreams I heard his voice: "Thank you, Jimmy. Thank you."

I dreamed of Mr. Barrow, and I woke up feeling happier than I had ever felt in my entire life.


	2. Chapter 2

I tried to hide my pleasure at seeing Jimmy unexpectedly enter my bedroom. I cringed inwardly as I wondered what the handsome young footman would do if he could read my thoughts. If he could know how often my dreams and fantasies revolved around him. But I had spent an entire year distancing myself from Jimmy as much as possible, as difficult as it was, and I had no intention of letting down my guard now.

"What are you doing here?" I asked in a would-be casual voice.

"I just wanted to make sure there wasn't too much harm done," Jimmy answered, and I felt my heart flutter. When you've been starved for attention all your life, even a common courtesy can make you feel like you're on top of the world. Jimmy hadn't spoken a direct word to me in a year, beyond "Excuse me, Mr. Barrow," and "Would you pass the butter." Now he was in my room and asking after my well-being, and I was momentarily tongue-tied before reminding myself to play it cool.

"There was enough harm done," I answered, trying to keep the pride out of my voice. I hadn't won the fight – not that a two on one attack is a fair fight at all – but I'd saved Jimmy from harm. In his inebriated condition, he'd probably have fared even worse than I had. It made me very glad I hadn't ignored my impulse to follow the young blond footman I couldn't stop thinking about.

"You were brave, Mr. Barrow… very brave," Jimmy said at last, and the words made me want to embrace him. But I knew better, even if my injuries hadn't been confining me to my bed. His words were music to my ears and I could only shake my head, brushing off Jimmy's praise. I didn't trust myself to speak so I waited.

"I feel badly…I shouldn't have run off." Jimmy looked very young and innocent just then, and I felt a surge of tender protectiveness toward him. Not that he was delicate, but he'd seen less of the world than I had. I wanted to shield him from pain, something that no person had ever done for me.

"No, you should have," I answered, shifting in bed to try to get more comfortable and getting a painful reminder of the damage the two young blokes had done. "Otherwise, what was I bloody doing it for?"

Another pause followed, and again, I didn't dare to speak, for fear that my tender feelings would make themselves known. And I had vowed never to remind Jimmy of the night that had disgusted him so badly.

"Were you following me?" Jimmy asked then, and my stomach tightened. How could I answer? I couldn't tell him that I wanted to follow him to the ends of the earth, so I thought fast. I had honestly been worried that the young footman might get into trouble after placing the bet in the tug of war that had paid off for him so handsomely. So I told the truth…the half truth, anyway.

"I had to keep an eye out," I said. "I could see you'd had a bit to drink, and so… Yes. Yes, I did follow you."

Would my answer satisfy him? Or did he suspect it was only half the truth?

"Why?" Jimmy asked simply, and I inwardly groaned. He had seen my actions for what they were – a lover's chivalry.

"You know why," I muttered, hating to confirm his suspicions that after all this time, I still found myself hopelessly drawn to him.

I thought he would turn and run right then and there, and was surprised when Jimmy pulled a chair closer to my bed.

"I can never give you what you want," he said after another awkward pause, and I wished I could sink through the bed and disappear. Instead, a bolt of desire went through my stomach to my groin, just to hear Jimmy voicing aloud his acknowledgement of all I desired.

_What I want is you, on any terms, _I thought_. I want you in my arms right this minute. I want to stroke your hair and be by your side always, so neither one of us has to be alone ever again. I want to hear you moan my name_. My head spun and I jolted myself back to reality. Jimmy was a ladies' man – I knew that. My fantasies would never come true. But maybe, just maybe, I had given myself the chance to start over. I chose my words very carefully.

"I understand that, I – I do," I breathed, afraid to look up. I forced myself to look into the blue eyes that made me weak kneed. "And I don't ask for it. But I'd like it if we could be friends."

I held my breath, afraid again that Jimmy would turn and run, never to speak to me. I couldn't bear that – the loneliness and rejection would kill me. But he didn't. To my utter joy and relief, a tentative smile lit up his face.

"Right you are, Mr. Barrow," he said, and I could have cried. "If that's all, I think I can manage that."

"Thank you, Jimmy," I said with fervor. "Thank you." I didn't trust myself to say more, not without bursting into tears. Before I made a fool of myself, I had to lighten the atmosphere. I picked up the newspaper I had cast aside when Jimmy first entered my room and handed it to him.

"Make yourself useful and read the paper," I grinned, and Jimmy took the paper with another smile and began to read. I couldn't concentrate on what he was saying, because the intimacy of Jimmy sitting by my bed, reading in his warm and soothing voice, had me in a state of bliss. All too soon, he stood to leave.

."Mr. Carson will be sending up a search party for me before long!" he said, and I wondered how the head butler hadn't already tracked down his waylaid footman.

"I shouldn't have kept you," I offered. "But I do thank you, Jimmy."

"It's me that should be thanking you, Mr. Barrow," he replied, and something in his eyes struck me. "I owe you."

I knew better than to read any kind of double meaning into such an innocuous statement. But it still thrilled me. I dared to hope that at the very least, it meant that Jimmy meant to make good on his promise to be my friend.

"I'll come back up tomorrow morning to see how you're getting on," Jimmy blurted suddenly, red-faced and avoiding my eyes. And before I could answer, he had fled the room.

I sank back into the pillows, taking all that had happened in such a short span of time. Jimmy no longer hated me. We were friends. He had sat by my bed and read to me. _My cup overfloweth,_ I thought, a quote from the Psalms my mother used to read to me. I liked the Psalms.

But then I was reminded of another memory involving my mother and the bible. I could see her now, red-faced and shouting, as she spat in my face, "Leviticus 20:13: "If there is a man who lies with a male as those who lie with a woman, both of them have committed a **detestable****act**; they shall surely be put to death. Their blood guiltiness is upon them."

The spell was broken. My cloud of euphoria over my newfound friendship burst as quickly as it had formed. We were friends, yes. But Jimmy believed the way my parents did. He believed I was an abomination. And every time I looked at my new friend, I would be reminded of all I could never have.

Reverently, I picked up the newspaper Jimmy had held in his hands and kissed it before laying it aside. Then I turned off my bedside lamp, pulled the covers over my head, and cried myself to sleep, as I had done so many, many times before.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This is from Thomas's perspective, and it will go back to Jimmy's next chapter. I hope it isn't too confusing! Reviews are always much appreciated, even if they're critical! Thanks for reading! **

It felt strange waking up leisurely for once, but Mr. Carson had told me to take as long as I needed to recover and I wasn't about to say no – as I stretched, every part of my body seemed to hurt. There wasn't much to be done anyway, with the family not yet back from Scotland, and besides, Mr. Carson knew he owed me. Ever since he had reluctantly confided in me a few months back that Dr. Clarkson had urged him to lighten his workload for the good of his health, I had been taking on more and more responsibility as under butler.

I knew how much it had cost the older butler to admit that he wasn't as young as he once was, and I had protected Mr. Carson's pride by assuring him that practical experience was exactly what I needed.

"A far cry from the days when you'd sooner starve than lift a finger beyond what was strictly required of you, Mr. Barrow," Mr. Carson had said when he came upon me one day taking inventory of the closet of household supplies in preparation to put in an order in the village.

"Just doing my part, Mr. Carson," I had responded, and the butler had almost smiled in response. My relationship with Mr. Carson had never been friendly, but we now had a mutual respect that made our working relationship a smooth one. I knew, though, that Mr. Carson would never be able to look at me without remembering that night a year ago.

As for my relationship with Mrs. Hughes, I now secretly thought of her as the mother I wished my own had been. Although I tried to express my gratitude, the older woman will probably never know how moved I was with her compassion the night she found me at my very lowest point, sobbing alone after discovering I was to be dismissed with no reference.

Her gentle touch and soothing words were like food to a starving person. To say that she saved my life is not much of an exaggeration – I had been very seriously considering taking my own life in that dark hour.

"Mr. Barrow, it may shock you to hear that my own brother was a man like you," Mrs. Hughes had confided in me that night after I sobbed out the story I felt sure would disgust her. "Terrence and I were as close as brother and sister ever could be, and I was the only one who knew…what he was."

I was utterly speechless that Mrs. Hughes, the most dignified and reserved of women, was speaking so openly about such a topic.

"His life did not end happily, I am sad to say," Mrs. Hughes continued, wiping away tears of her own. I waited for her to elaborate, but she did not. "It's too painful to discuss," the housekeeper continued. "So Mr. Barrow, while we've never been overly friendly, I do feel for you. And you could learn a bit from Terrence. He was just as hurt and angry as you are over the way he'd been treated, but he didn't let it poison him. He was a kind, lovely person."

After that night, something in me was different. I was as hurt and angry as ever over the way the world treated men like me, but Mrs. Hughes' words had penetrated my being. I knew I'd been unfair at times, allowing that pain to spill out against people who themselves had done me no real harm. Slowly, I felt myself changing, even while I nursed my broken heart over Jimmy. Through my fog of despair, I survived by honoring Terrence's memory.

They say time heals all wounds, and I suppose there's some truth to it, but I'm not sure how true it is when every day you have to work alongside the person you're trying to forget. But after a year, I'd become grimly accustomed to the reality that Jimmy Kent would never even speak a civil word to me, let alone want anything more. All that had changed last night.

Last night I'd been beside myself with joy over my newfound friendship with Jimmy, before the reality had set in. What if I overstepped my boundaries? And did Jimmy really want to be friends, or did he merely feel a grudging sense of responsibility toward me for my act of heroism? I didn't know, and I was afraid to find out. But I didn't have long to ponder, because as I stretched and winced again, Jimmy was knocking on the door and entering the room.

He carried a breakfast tray, and in an instant I remembered that I had stripped naked during the night because of the intense heat in my attic bedroom, and Jimmy had evidently been in my dreams, considering the way my sheet tented halfway down my body. In a panic, I sat up, bunching the sheet around my groin and grappling for the blanket, which had slipped to the end of the bed as I slept. Jimmy was too busy with the tray to notice, or so I hoped. I slipped my shirt back over my head while Jimmy's back was turned so that he wouldn't read anything suggestive into my body language.

"Good morning, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy offered. "Pleasant dreams?" His eyes were wide, innocent and heavenly and that lock of hair was falling over his forehead as usual, just asking to be tenderly brushed away.

I blushed scarlet at the words. Jimmy would not appreciate an honest answer to that question, that much I knew.

"Slept like a baby," I answered instead, accepting the breakfast try with a word of thanks. "What about you?"

"All right, I guess, but you know how it is; morning came too soon. I think I hate the lack of sleep more than anything else about being in service," Jimmy said and I nodded sympathetically. An awkward silence followed and I busied myself with my tray. It was all well and good to say we were friends now, but what did we have to say each other? Should I pick up where we'd left off the last time we'd had a real conversation, that fateful night when Jimmy opened up to me about having no family and being all on his own?

"Oh, the rest of the staff are back early, by the way," Jimmy interrupted my thoughts. "Lady Mary's in hospital and they reckon the baby's coming, so they all came on the early train."

"Let Mr. Carson know I'll try to get down later to help see to dinner," I answered and Jimmy nodded.

"Don't strain yourself," he cautioned with a grin. "You're not as young as you used to be, after all."

I laughed outright at Jimmy's cheeky jab and felt the tension in the room dissolving.

"Not so very much older than you, and don't you forget it, but plenty wiser," I countered, and batted at his arm playfully as he moved closer to remove the empty tray. My touch lingered a fraction of a second too long and I inwardly cringed. I had touched Jimmy, something I had vowed never to do again. Worse yet, he'd noticed and had jumped back instinctively.

"I'm sorry," I said automatically. "I wasn't thinking, Jimmy, forgive me."

"No harm done, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy answered but his face said otherwise. The tension was back in the room and we both felt it. Once again I wanted to disappear. Hadn't I learned my lesson a year ago?

"Well, I'd best get back on duty," Jimmy said stiffly and I nodded. After he was safely down the stairs, I sighed deeply and opened a book from my bedside table. From it I withdrew the note I had read every day for the past year – the note that I knew had actually been written by Miss O'Brien as part of her master plan to trick me, but that I couldn't part with. The note that read, simply, "I love you, Mr. Barrow. –J."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I realize I have my timeline off by a day, and that Mary's baby was actually born the same night Jimmy first went to Thomas's room, but this way worked better for the purposes of this story. I apologize, because I like to keep things as consistent with the show as possible! Thanks as always for reviews, which are so much appreciated! Suggestions are welcome too!**

I absolutely hate waking up in the morning, and today was no exception. I was having the most incredible dream, when suddenly I became aware of Alfred's voice outside my door, telling me I'd overslept. In a panic, I jumped out of bed and made a mad dash to complete my morning washing up and dressing routine.

I was so late that I barely had time to grab a piece of toast before the servants' breakfast was cleared away, and then it was madness for the next hour while the upstairs breakfast went on. All the staff were in a tizzy with Lady Mary in hospital, and the news that she had given birth to a healthy baby boy.

When I had a chance to catch my breath, I realized I had absolutely no memory of the contents of the dream I knew had been just lovely. I could still remember the feeling of warm, safe contentment I had felt just after waking, but for the life of me, I couldn't recall anything else.

_Maybe it'll come back to me later_, I thought. _I hope so_. Then I put my thoughts aside. Now that the upstairs breakfast was complete, Mrs. Patmore had instructed Ivy to put together a tray for Mr. Barrow, who was having a lie-in this morning due to his injuries.

"I'll send one of the hall boys up with that just as soon as they've finished filling the coal bins," Mr. Carson told Ivy. "Alfred is still clearing the breakfast room."

There were men's and women's servants' quarters with a locked door separating them, so it wouldn't be considered proper for Ivy or Daisy to bring the tray up. _Kind of funny to worry about that sort of thing when it's _him_ we're talking about_, I mused. Then I remembered my promise that I would check in on Mr. Barrow this morning.

"I don't mind bringing it up, Mr. Carson," I offered, and his bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. And no wonder. I had made no attempt to hide my disgust with Mr. Barrow from anyone below stairs. And for a whole year, Mr. Carson and the rest had watched me go out of my way to pointedly avoid the under butler with the unnatural ways.

"If you are sure, James," Mr. Carson said slowly and I nodded. It occurred to me that no one else knew the truth about Mr. Barrow's fight. They probably assumed that the village chaps knew what sort of man he was, and had beaten him for that reason. How then could I explain my change of heart? Should I tell everyone the truth?

My thoughts were still racing when I entered Mr. Barrow's room. We exchanged pleasantries, and although I felt a little awkward, I found myself relaxing and enjoying Mr. Barrow's company. He had changed a great deal since I first came to Downton, although it was still difficult for me to think of him as a person aside from his peculiar ways. As long as I didn't dwell on it, though, I could handle this new friendship.

As Mr. Barrow ate, I glanced around his room, noticing the lamps and framed pictures on the wall. Nicer than my room, but then, I was a footman, not an under butler. I had a strange feeling of déjà vu as I took in my surroundings, like I'd been here before, but not a memory of last night. It puzzled me, but I put it out of my head when I remembered Mr. Barrow didn't know Lady Mary and the rest of the staff were back early.

"Let Mr. Carson know I'll try to get down later to help see to dinner," Mr. Barrow answered. He didn't look like he was in any shape to help with dinner, not in the dining room anyway, with his face covered in cuts and bruises. I still felt badly about the whole thing, but since I couldn't find the right words of gratitude, I turned my feelings into a joke.

"Don't strain yourself," I teased. "You're not as young as you used to be, after all." Mr. Barrow's laughed.

"Not so very much older than you, and don't you forget it, but plenty wiser."

As I moved to take his breakfast tray, he swatted my arm playfully. In an instant, I was taken back to a year ago, when the then-valet would frequently touch me, putting his hands on my shoulders, touching my leg, and generally making me miserable. Each time he had touched me, I had looked around fearfully, wondering who had seen and what they were thinking. The memory made me jump back as though he'd hurt me.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Barrow said. "I wasn't thinking, Jimmy, forgive me." And he looked right miserable, too.

"No harm done, Mr. Barrow," I managed to say before stumbling from the room. I knew I should head straight back down to the kitchen with the empty tray, but I was too rattled. My own room was just down the hall and I slipped inside and lay down on my bed for a minute's rest. The wonderful dream started to come back to me in snippets, but they were so disjointed that I could only make out a hazy face with steely blue eyes.

Dowager Lady Anstruther, that's who it must have been in my dream. Wouldn't that be an interesting story to tell Mr. Barrow. My former employer, the young blue eyed widow who couldn't take her eyes off me, was proof positive that I wasn't THAT sort of man, whatever he may have first believed of me. Hadn't I proved my manhood by allowing her to lure me into her bed?

_I'll have to tell Mr. Barrow about that sometime,_ I mused, wondering if such a story would shock or embarrass my new friend. Well, why should it? He'd been bold as brass when it came to his preferences, so why shouldn't I be? Reluctantly, I rose to leave my room when I met a breathless Alfred in the hallway.

"James, where've you been? Mr. Carson's in a panic!" I'd never seen Alfred so wild-eyed. "Something terrible's happened!"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm gone for five minutes and Mr. Carson wants my head on a platter, does he?" Bugger off, I'm coming."

"No, you don't understand," Alfred gasped. "There's been a terrible accident and Mr. Matthew was killed."

I heard a strangled cry from down the hallway and before I knew what I was doing, I ran back to Mr. Barrow's room, where I found him with his head in his hands, weeping. What was this? I guess it meant I was shallow, but although I felt truly sorry for my employers' loss, I couldn't imagine weeping for a man I didn't even know.

"It isn't fair," Mr. Barrow choked. "Mr. Matthew and I were in the trenches together. He was decent and kind. He didn't think he was any better than the next man, no matter his rank."

Never in all my time here had I imagined that Mr. Barrow had known Mr. Matthew so intimately. Maybe it was just another one of his disgusting obsessions, come to think of it.

"Did you…fancy him?" I dared to ask. "Is that why you're so upset?"

Mr. Barrow's red-rimmed eyes were hard, but his voice was shaky. "I don't fancy every man I meet, and it wasn't that way with Mr. Matthew, no. I respected him, that was all. I thought I was lonely here until I got to the trenches, and then I wanted to die it was so bad. Mr. Matthew was a little reminder of Downton, the only home I've got."

Once again, I was shamed into silence. Mr. Barrow buried his head in his hands again, and in his gut-wrenching sobs I heard all the loneliness of the world. Hardly realizing that I had begun crying myself, I found myself moving across the room. In an instant, I was comforting my heartbroken friend, putting my arms around him. I didn't care if Alfred walked back in; I needed human contact and the feel of Mr. Barrow's strong shoulders was strangely comforting.

I heard Mr. Barrow's gasp of astonishment and felt his arms tighten around my back, pressing me closer to himself. I hadn't been this close to anyone in so long, and I felt myself giving in to the sheer comfort of human contact. I breathed deeply and smelled soap and cigarette smoke.

Mr. Barrow's breathing was ragged and I felt the wetness of his tears on my shirt. We held the embrace for a long time, and I heard my own voice whispering, "It's all right, Mr. Barrow. It's all right."

Then I heard footsteps in the hall and the spell was broken. I pulled away and faced the door, where Mr. Carson stood, breathless and red-eyed himself. His face registered no shock at finding me in Mr. Barrow's room, both of us clearly crying.

"So you've heard," the older man said, and his voice was unsteady. "You're needed downstairs, James. We've many arrangements to see to today."

"Is there anything I can do, Mr. Carson?" Mr. Barrow asked. "And how is Lady Mary?"

"Not at present, Mr. Barrow," Mr. Carson said heavily. "She and the baby are physically well, but she is obviously devastated. Your grief does you credit."

Mr. Carson turned on his heel and left, and I made to follow him. But first I turned to face Mr. Barrow.

"Embracing you was like I embraced my father after my mother died," I said by way of explanation, and he nodded silently. "I didn't want you to think…that it meant anything else.'

"I understand." Mr. Barrow's voice was barely audible. "You'd best get downstairs."

I made my way toward the kitchen, not yet able to face the growing fear within me. The fear that being in Mr. Barrow's embrace, I'd felt momentarily like I was back in that heavenly dream that still eluded me. But it couldn't be. Because I wasn't THAT sort of man. I would rather die.


	5. Chapter 5

I cried a long time after Jimmy left my room. Not just for Mr. Matthew, either, although the loss weighed heavily on my mind. I cried because life was unpredictable, and sometimes very short, and above all, life was lonely and painful. What was the bloody point of it all? I'd read once in a book of poetry that the meaning of life was to learn to love. At the time, young and hopeful, I'd found the idea romantic. I'd allowed myself to believe that love was possible, even for people like me.

I thought back to the brief weeks of that magical summer with the Duke, the man I had truly believed was the love of my life.

"Oh Thomas, how I love and adore you," he'd whispered so many times to me. "We shall find a way to be together forever."

I believed it all, and the feeling was euphoric. In the Duke's arms, I felt warm, safe and accepted. It was easy to push aside the nagging worry that this couldn't possibly last. I had poured my heart and soul out to my lover in the many letters I sent him after our London season together. And all of it had come crashing down around me in the cruelest of ways.

"One swallow doesn't make a summer." The Duke's words still rang in my mind, nine years later. The old expression meant that good things don't necessarily last, but the crude double meaning behind his words wasn't lost on me. It made me feel ashamed of the intimate moments we'd shared, as though he had viewed me as nothing more than a body to use for his own selfish purposes.

The Duke was long in the past now, and I no longer grieved for the man himself. He was vain, ruthless and selfish. But I still grieved over the sense of loss. What were my chances of ever finding another man to love?

Besides all that, it wasn't just any man that I desired. It was Jimmy. I was completely and utterly besotted with the young man, and all my best efforts to suppress my feelings had proved unsuccessful. God knew I hadn't planned to open up myself to the possibility of heartbreak again. And for awhile, I'd managed to convince myself that it was just physical attraction. But the truth was, I was a romantic at heart, though few had ever seen that side of me. I didn't just desire Jimmy's body – I loved him.

And I would try to be content with our friendship. After all, I'd gone almost my entire life without physical affection. I could continue to manage – but I still worried that Jimmy felt bound by duty and nothing more. Now that he'd offered his friendship, I didn't know how I would bear it if he became aloof and distant again.

I dried my eyes and once again pulled out the now dog-eared letter. I should really get rid of it. What if it fell into the wrong hands? I closed my eyes and was startled a moment later by a knock on the door as Miss O'Brien entered my room.

There was no love lost between the two of us anymore. At one time, I had considered her a friend and ally, but those days were long gone. I kept my distance and made my disdain for her plain. This woman had had no qualms about attempting to ruin my life, and all because I'd tried to teach young Alfred a lesson or two.

I knew I'd been wrong to trick Alfred, but my prank had hardly warranted the level of retaliation that Miss O'Brien had stooped to. She'd hoped to strip me not only of my job, but of the possibility of ever working in England again. Not to mention the utter humiliation and heartbreak over my failed encounter with Jimmy. I had decided to be the better person and to leave Her Ladyship's lady's maid alone, rather than retaliate. But that didn't mean I was prepared to be civil.

"What do you want?" I asked shortly. Her presence in the men's quarters was unexpected, but then again, as a lady's maid she was not subject to the discipline of Mrs. Hughes the way the housemaids were. Besides, strictly speaking, the rule was that the men were forbidden from the women's quarters, not the other way around, even though women rarely ventured this way.

"I have some news that I think you'll be pleased to hear," Miss O'Brien said, coolly appraising my room. I noticed without surprise that she had failed to ask me how I was feeling after having been attacked. Typical.

"Well, go on with it then," I answered, not meeting her eyes. I just wanted her to leave me in peace.

"I'm to travel abroad at last," Miss O'Brien informed me, and her eyes gleamed with triumph. "I've accepted a position as Lady Flintshire's lady's maid, and I'll be accompanying her to India where Lord Flintshire is posted."

"Can't say I'll be sorry to see you go," I answered, with no attempt to hide the dislike in my voice. "Have you told Her Ladyship yet?"

"That's my business, isn't it?" Miss O'Brien's voice was equally hard.

"Seems a poor time to be bailing on Her Ladyship, what with her son-in-law not even in his grave," I shot back.

"I've put my time in here and I'm finished," Miss O'Brien said. "Her Ladyship has served my purpose, but all that's through."

Unfeeling to the end, was Miss O'Brien. I had nothing else to say so I remained quiet, having forgotten that the letter still lay in my lap. _I love you, Mr. Barrow. –J._

"Received a letter, then?" Miss O'Brien's keen eyes had noticed the piece of paper and she was moving closer to have a look.

"I should think you of all people would recognize this particular letter," I replied, my voice tight with rage. "It was this, your letter, slipped under my door, which finally convinced me your lies about Jimmy were actually true. I must say, you disguised your handwriting remarkably well."

I was beyond embarrassment. Let Miss O'Brien laugh at me for being a sentimental fool – for keeping a love letter that was a piece of forged trickery. She was leaving, and good riddance. She could laugh all she wanted. But to my astonishment, she did not laugh. Instead, her face showed genuine surprise and confusion as she reached for the letter and read its contents.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Thomas, but this is not my doing," my former friend said.

"Well, Alfred's, then," I responded.

"It isn't Alfred's handwriting either," Miss O'Brien said slowly. She looked thoughtful.

"Well, whose, then?" I demanded. "No one else would be this cruel. I know you were behind this somehow."

"Maybe your little footman friend fancies you after all," Miss O'Brien replied with a smirk.

That was enough for me. "Get out," I spat. "I don't have to sit here and take this from you. Haven't you done enough already to ruin my life?"

"Well, excuse me for breathing," Miss O'Brien said airily as she made her way to the door. I said nothing as she departed.

Alone once again, my head spun in confusion. Could I possibly trust Miss O'Brien? Had she really not written the letter? She was probably trying to trick me again and I wasn't about to be gullible enough to fall for that twice. But who HAD written it, then? Not Jimmy, obviously. Try as I might to sort this out, nothing made sense. And I couldn't erase my memory of the genuine confusion on Miss O'Brien's face when she saw the letter. She was a good liar, but my instinct told me that she really had had nothing to do with it.

I knew in my head that the handwriting couldn't possibly be Jimmy's, but my heart wouldn't give up hoping. I knew I would have no peace until I found out the truth, so I devised a plan.

Later that night, Jimmy popped in with a deck of cards. My heart leaped at the sight of him, and while he dealt the cards I drank I his presence eagerly. I still wasn't used to having him sit so close, and the memory of his impulsive hug earlier in the day made me ache with desire.

His physical closeness was almost too much for me to bear, but I wouldn't have traded his company for the world. After a few games, I could see that he was growing tired, and I made my move. Earlier in the day, I had sealed an envelope, and now I handed it to Jimmy.

"Before you go, would you mind addressing this letter for me?" I asked casually. "That cut on my hand makes it bloody near impossible to write. I wrote it before the fair but never got around to getting it ready to post."

"Of course," Jimmy answered and carefully wrote down the address I dictated to him. "Shall I bring it down to add to tomorrow morning's post?"

"I've just remembered I was supposed to enclose a newspaper clipping," I answered quickly. "Never mind about it now; just hand it back to me and I'll see to it tomorrow."

I was sure Jimmy would sense something was amiss, but he gave no indication that he thought I was acting strangely.

"Well, I'm off to bed, then," he said. "Good night, Mr. Barrow."

"Good night, Jimmy," I responded, eagerly retrieving the old letter from underneath my pillow the second he had left, so that I could compare it with the address Jimmy had just written. My heart began to pound and my mouth fell open in sheer amazement as I held the two documents side by side. The handwriting was identical.

**A/N: Please don't lose patience if you're looking for things to heat up! It's coming! **** Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

Nothing could have prepared me for the shock that the handwriting on my beloved love note was clearly Jimmy's. How such a thing was possible, I had absolutely no idea. I cursed myself for not finding out sooner, but after that fateful night that went so horribly wrong, it had been clear that Jimmy had no interest in me.

The obvious conclusion had been that Miss O'Brien had written the note as the final touch to complete her devious scheme. But now I knew otherwise, and my head spun with the implications. What was Jimmy playing at? Had he written the note as a joke? I couldn't believe that was true, yet what on earth was I expected to think?

Had Jimmy been waiting for me to respond to the note, before confessing his true feelings? I had certainly made my continuing attraction plain two nights ago.

"You know why," I had told him, with deep meaning behind the words. And he had responded equally plainly:

"I can never give you what you want."

Surely if Jimmy had had any doubts about my continuing feelings, they would have been laid to rest during that discussion, but he had made it clear where things stood with him. And I had gratefully welcomed his new friendship, knowing full well there would be nothing more.

Now, I was feeling hope like I hadn't felt since Miss O'Brien had begun dropping hints about Jimmy over a year ago. And I had no idea what to do. How in the world would I approach Jimmy, and what would I say? What if I was somehow mistaken about the whole thing? I supposed it was possible that Miss O'Brien was a skilled forger, but I doubted it.

After a long and restless night, I got up, dressed, and joined the others for the servants' breakfast, despite my soreness. The cuts and bruises were slowly fading, though, and I thought I would probably pass Mr. Carson's inspection should I be needed to wait at table.

"Back with us, I see, Mr. Barrow?" Mr. Carson asked as he buttered his toast.

"Yes, Mr. Carson. I know there must be a lot to do what with the funeral preparations," I answered.

"Indeed there is," the head butler said, his bushy eyebrows furrowed. "And Alfred finds himself ill, in a most untimely manner, I might add, so your assistance would be greatly appreciated. A number of house guests are expected this evening, who will be attending tomorrow's funeral."

"Of course," I responded. "What should I see to first?"

"If you would be so good as to assist James this morning, I would be obliged," Mr. Carson answered. "The hall boys have their half day off today and Her Ladyship has requested that the new furniture that arrived last month be arranged in some of the guest rooms, and the old and damaged items must be moved to the burn pile. I've written a list of what goes where."

I glanced over at Jimmy, who was shoveling in his breakfast like there was no tomorrow. He nodded and we exchanged quick smiles. I saw Miss O'Brien's keen eyes observing our exchange and wondered what she was thinking. As under butler, the task I had been given was beneath me, and she knew it, yet I wasn't complaining. No time to worry about my devious former friend now, though.

"Right, well, we'd better get started," I said to Jimmy as Ivy began clearing away the empty dishes, lingering an extra moment as she took Jimmy's plate while the young footman appeared oblivious. After all this time, her attraction to Jimmy was apparently just as faithful as my own.

_We're in the same boat, Ivy, _I mused silently, feeling genuine sympathy for the kitchen maid, who got along well with everyone_. Except you haven't got an unexplained love note, at least not as far as I know._

"Crikey," Jimmy panted a few minutes later as we wrestled a chest of drawers up the back stairs. "This weighs a bloody ton."

We reached the top of the stairs and made our way through several corridors before finally locating the guest bedroom where the new piece of furniture was to be placed. We worked together to move out the existing chest of drawers before settling the new one in its proper place.

"Don't tell Mrs. Hughes we didn't clear out the dust bunnies first," I laughed as Jimmy began coughing. I frowned with concern when his coughing continued for a minute or two before he finally stopped.

"It's my asthma," Jimmy explained. "It usually only flares up now and then in the cold air or when I breathe too much dust."

"Well, have a bit of a rest, then," I encouraged my friend. "If anyone walks in, I'll explain the circumstances."

Jimmy flopped down on the bed, his blond hair becoming tousled in the process. God, how I wanted to join him there.

"Now this is a bed I wouldn't mind sleeping in," he remarked, luxuriating in the plush, oversized guest bed. "My mattress is so lumpy and thin I'd be better off on the floor. I haven't slept in a bed this grand in quite some time."

Neither had I, come to think of it, not since the happy nights I spent with the Duke so many years ago. But when had Jimmy slept in a bed like this?

"S'pose I've already said too much, but I may as well tell you the rest," Jimmy continued. "I was afraid I'd said too much to Mr. Carson when he interviewed me for this job last year. I told him that Lady Anstruther begged me to go with her to Paris, and I think he thought I was speaking rather disrespectfully of my employer, but it's nothing but the truth."

I waited for Jimmy to continue, curious to see where this was leading, though I had begun to guess.

"You see, she's a widow, a young one, but older than me. Probably your age," Jimmy went on. "Her husband was positively ancient and he died not long after I was promoted to footman. A few months after that, I received a private invitation to her bedroom."

Jimmy's cheeks flamed, but I wasn't shocked; simply interested.

"I knew very little about what goes on between a man and a woman but she…she wanted to teach me. She paid me extra beyond my footman's wages. I spent most of my nights with her up until she got the idea to move to Paris. She was very cross with me when I said I didn't want to go. Have I shocked you, Mr. Barrow?"

I laughed easily. "Jimmy, considering our history, I think you've earned the right to confide anything in me without fear. It would take a good deal to shock me."

"I'd never slept with anyone, Mr. Barrow, and she was my superior. It was a good position and I didn't want to give it up."

Now Jimmy was sounding a bit defensive. Did he really think I was judging him? Quite the contrary – I was elated that my friend was confiding in me.

"Well, why would you say no under any circumstances, Jimmy? A red-blooded young man like yourself? I'd imagine you were in heaven," I replied with a bit of a wicked grin. Jimmy blushed again. I was testing him, trying to determine what was going on with this enigma of a young man.

"Well, we're both men, Mr. Barrow. I don't have to tell you being with a real person was a sight better than doing it on me own," Jimmy admitted and I burst into laughter again.

"Mr. Travis is coming for dinner tonight, Jimmy," I teased. "Suppose I tell him you've just admitted to practicing what the church refers to as self abuse?"

Jimmy was bright red again and I felt a bit of a thrill to be taking the conversation in this direction. If I wasn't careful, my trousers would give away to Jimmy just how much I was enjoying this conversation. The thought of Jimmy alone in his bedroom, head thrown back in ecstasy as he experienced the throes of "self abuse" was a tantalizing one.

"That's what I can't abide about the church," I went on. "Vicars care more about what goes on behind closed doors than they do about caring for the poor."

"Don't speak that way about the church," Jimmy protested, to my surprise. "It isn't right."

"I thought you were more of a free thinker," I said. "They're just men, Jimmy; they've no right to tell anyone how to live their lives."

Jimmy made no answer and I changed course.

"So why didn't you want to go to Paris with Lady Anstruther, then?" I prodded. "Why give up such a good thing?"

"Because it weren't right, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy mumbled.

"Because you say so or because the church says so?" I countered.

"Both," Jimmy answered and he looked so miserable I felt truly sorry for him. "It felt good, and it was nice not to have to sleep alone. But during the day she wouldn't even look in my direction. At night, she called me her "sweet plaything" and told me I was handsome, but that's where it ended."

Poor Jimmy. I wanted more than anything to put my arms around him.

"I think all these notions about love are just rubbish," Jimmy went on. "You read about it in books, but I didn't feel any of that and neither did she. I wanted" – he choked back a sob – "I wanted her to tell me she loved me, like my mother used to tell me every night. But she never did."

"You miss your mother, don't you," I said thoughtfully as he nodded. Jimmy was a complicated puzzle. Why was he telling me about Lady Anstruther? To make sure I knew where he stood and what his preferences were? Well, he'd have to try harder than that. I knew that men like me had been known to sleep with women. The Duke certainly had, and in fact, I'd heard several years ago that he'd finally managed to marry an heiress like he'd planned, and now had two children.

It occurred to me that Jimmy was sounding more like a lonely child than a spurned lover. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I couldn't help noting that he had made no reference at all to physical attraction to his employer. I'd spent enough time at the pub to know how men talked about women, and never once had I heard one fail to mention which body parts excited him the most. And I had most definitely never heard a man compare a lover to his mother.

Then I mentally shook myself. It was impossible to say if Jimmy really was a man like me. The note could have easily been a joke of some kind. I had to try to avoid getting my hopes up.

"So you said no to Paris," I concluded.

"Didn't see the point," Jimmy shrugged. "I didn't want to keep up our arrangement for the rest of my life, and I never much liked the idea of leaving England – thought I'd get homesick. Guess it's a bit silly with my mum and dad gone, but there it is."

"It makes sense to me," I said as I dared so sit down on the bed next to Jimmy. "And for what it's worth, I'm glad you ended up here."

Jimmy smiled for the first time since breakfast.

"I'm glad too, Mr. Barrow," he answered. "Well, as much as I'd like to spend the rest of the morning in this bed, I think I'm feeling well enough to keep working. Maybe I'll find myself in here again some night, if my sleep walking keeps up."

"Sleep walking?" I wondered.

"I've been that way ever since I was little. I get up and walk about at night in my sleep, and sometimes I'll wake up somewhere strange, like a cupboard, or I'll wake up and discover I've polished my shoes during the night or something silly like that. The odd thing is, I never remember doing it."

"Well, just don't sleep walk into Mr. Carson's room, or he'll not thank you for it," I grinned and Jimmy laughed.

We went about our numerous tasks, and the day passed quickly. With Alfred sick, I put on livery and served at table with Jimmy, inwardly smirking as I served Mr. Travis, as I was reminded of Jimmy's and my earlier conversation. The mood at dinner was a somber one, though, and despite my happiness over my new friendship, I still felt keenly the loss of Mr. Matthew, and the cloud that hung over the house with his impending burial.

At long last, the servants' dinner was over and most of us sat around the table in the servants' hall, reading, drinking coffee, or working on sewing and repairs. I was tired, but I was determined to stay as long as Jimmy did. One by one, my fellow servants got up, said their good nights, and departed for their rooms until only Jimmy, Miss O'Brien and I remained.

I kept my head down as I read my newspaper, silently willing the woman to leave. At long last, she rose and headed for the door, pausing only to say snidely,

"I suppose I'll leave the two of you alone, then."

Jimmy's head shot up from the magazine he had been reading and I saw surprise and worry in his face. If looks could kill, Miss O'Brien would have perished on the spot thanks to me. I watched as she made her way up the stairs, then I turned to face Jimmy. I pulled the letter from my pocket. My heart was pounding out of my chest and I wondered if I'd have the courage to continue. Common sense was telling me that this confrontation could end in disaster, but I couldn't stand to wait any longer.

"Jimmy," I began hesitantly. "There's something I need to show you…and ask you."

**Thank you all for the reviews! Comments and suggestions are very welcome, as always, and sorry to leave you with another cliffhanger! I'll try to post the next chapter soon!**


	7. Chapter 7

I was surprised to realize how much I had enjoyed spending the day working alongside Mr. Barrow. With him being under butler, he was in a position of authority over me and our paths didn't often directly cross. Today I'd discovered how fun it was to laugh and joke as we worked side by side, and not once all day had I been bothered by my friend's unnatural attraction to me.

I was also relieved to have gotten my secret about Lady Anstruther off my chest. Mr. Barrow had been a kind listening ear, and I was glad that he now knew for once and for all that I was interested in women.

Now we sat reading in the servants' hall in companionable silence, finishing up cups of coffee. Miss O'Brien had been working on some mending, and she finally rose to leave.

"I suppose I'll leave the two of you alone, then."

Something in Miss O'Brien's tone of voice worried me. I always felt uneasy around the lady's maid, and although Mr. Barrow had never given me all the details, I now knew that she was responsible for making him think I was interested in him in THAT way. Why she had done it, I didn't know – maybe I would ask Mr. Barrow about it sometime.

I'd never forget her words to me last year, when she was encouraging me to report Mr. Barrow's kiss to Mr. Carson:

"If you say nothing, people will start to believe you weren't disgusted at all."

Those words had bothered me more than I could understand. They filled me with horror, at the idea of everyone looking at me the way they looked at Mr. Barrow. But the words also filled me with an uneasiness I couldn't explain. Tonight, her insinuation about the two of us being left alone together reminded me of what she'd said last year, and I guessed she'd noticed my new camaraderie with Mr. Barrow.

I noticed Mr. Barrow shooting Miss O'Brien a look of intense dislike as she departed, and I shifted awkwardly in my chair, not knowing what to say next. I was about to excuse myself and head upstairs to bed when I noticed Mr. Barrow looking very odd. He appeared breathless and nervous, and he had pulled a piece of paper from his pocket that he was twisting anxiously.

"Jimmy," he began slowly. "There's something I need to show you…and ask you."

Curious, I waited for my friend to continue. He looked as if he were about to pass out, and I felt my own lungs constrict. I hadn't quite gotten over my asthma attack earlier in the day, and it was a bit harder than normal to breathe.

Mr. Barrow unfolded the piece of paper and placed it on the table in front of me.

"Jimmy, please don't be angry if you didn't, but I have to know if you wrote this," he said, and there was fear and pleading in his eyes. I scanned the paper and saw a familiar script, reading simply, "_I love you, Mr. Barrow. –J_."

The handwriting was my own.

Confusion and disbelief crashed through my being, and the whole room seemed to be spinning and buzzing. I tried to breathe, but my airway was so constricted that I could only choke and gasp in panic. I stood up, knocking my chair over, and as my vision grew hazy I felt Mr. Barrow's strong arms around me, supporting my weight and preventing me from collapsing.

"You need to breathe steam," I heard Mr. Barrow's voice, as if in a dream, and allowed him to half guide, half carry me to the kitchen, where he turned on the kettle. I felt his gentle hands smoothing back my hair and supporting me as I breathed in the steam, feeling my airway relax and gratefully gulping air.

"My God, Jimmy, are you all right?" Mr. Barrow's voice was husky with emotion.

"I think so," I managed to say shakily. "Thanks to your quick thinking. I haven't had to breathe steam since I was little. How did you know what to do?"

"Don't forget I trained for the medical corps," my friend answered. I saw then that his hands were shaking and his usually neat hair was falling over his forehead in disarray.

Then my stomach constricted as I remembered what had thrown me into such a panic that it had triggered my attack.

"The letter…" was all I could manage.

"Let's get you up to your room and we'll talk about it," Mr. Barrow suggested. "Here, put your arm around my shoulders."

Now was no time to worry about appearances. I gratefully allowed my friend to support my weight as we slowly made our way up the flights of stairs to the servants' quarters in the attic. Mr. Barrow opened my bedroom door and helped me lie down. He seemed to cast around, looking for a chair, and finding none, hesitantly sat on the bed beside me.

"Mr. Barrow, I'm terribly confused," I said hoarsely, barely more than a whisper. "It's my handwriting, but I didn't write it. I mean…I don't think I did."

"What do you mean, you don't think?" my friend wanted to know.

"It looks a bit familiar, but it's like trying to remember a dream. I feel as though I saw someone else write it, long ago," I answered, trying and failing to convey the emotions swirling in my mind. I truly felt as though I were going insane, and worse yet, tears were beginning to spill down my cheeks.

Mr. Barrow was pale. "Do you mean you think you saw someone writing the note to trick me?" he whispered.

"No," I cried miserably. "I mean, I feel as though I watched MYSELF write it, but until tonight I had no memory of it. I don't know what I'm saying; I don't know anything anymore."

"Oh, Jimmy," Mr. Barrow breathed. "Do you know how afraid I was to show you this note? Do you know how long I believed it was really written by Miss O'Brien?"

He put a hand on my shoulder and I shook it off.

"Don't," I snapped, panic washing over me. I needed time to process what was happening here. "I don't even know my own mind right now, Mr. Barrow. For all I know, YOU wrote the note. After all, I addressed that letter for you; you know what my writing looks like."

I regretted the foolish words immediately. Mr. Barrow flinched like I had hit him and drew back.

"What the hell kind of sense does that make, Jimmy?" he asked angrily. "Forge a note that's meant to be from you, and try to convince YOU that you yourself wrote it? For Christ's sake, think it through!"

"I'm sorry," I muttered, turning to face the wall. "I know the only explanation is that I wrote it. I just don't understand how."

Mr. Barrow was silent for a moment before speaking.

"You told me earlier that you do things in your sleep," he offered. "Things you don't remember later. Maybe that's how it happened."

_Of course_. Why hadn't I thought of my sleep walking? Once, as a child, I'd apparently crept into the kitchen and eaten an entire pie that my mother had just baked that day. A stomachache in the morning, and the evidence of the empty pie plate, were the only clues that I was the culprit. I'd honestly had no memory of the incident.

And another time, Lady Anstruther had informed me that I had kept her up half the night with "confessions," as she put it. She wouldn't discuss what I had said, but apparently I had bared my soul to my then-lover and remembered nothing of it the next morning.

So I had written the note in my sleep – that explained everything. I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd had no idea what I was doing. Of course I didn't love Mr. Barrow; I was attracted to women. Didn't Lady Anstruther prove that?

"I must have been feverish or something," I offered lamely, and I saw disappointment in the under butler's blue eyes. Those eyes that I couldn't seem to stop staring into for some reason. "If I were like you, wouldn't I know it?"

"Only you know the answer to that, Jimmy," Mr. Barrow said softly.

I was at a loss for words. My heart pounded and I was still finding it a bit hard to breathe. What's more, I wasn't entirely sure the asthma was the only reason.

"Have you always known you…desired men?" I asked uncomfortably.

"As far back as I can remember, yes," Mr. Barrow answered. "Long before I understood it was something most people consider to be repulsive. I've always known that attraction to men was a part of who I am."

"But how do you know?" I persisted. "Did you ever try kissing a woman…the way you kissed me?"

Mr. Barrow smiled. "I never felt the need. I've never been in any doubt about who I am. But from what I understand, it isn't that easy for everyone like me. My… a man I used to know, a man like me, but a gentleman, told me what it was like at boarding school. He said there were lots of young men who were very conflicted. They thought they liked women, but the truth was that they had deeply suppressed their true feelings, because of pressure from church and family."

"Well, the church happens to be right," I said tightly. "It's written very plainly in the Bible. When a man lies with a man, it's an abomination."

"So I've heard," Mr. Barrow sighed, and he looked tired and defeated. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

"I want to know what in the bloody hell is happening to me," I half laughed, half sobbed. "This has got to be the strangest conversation I've ever had, Mr. Barrow, and I don't know where to turn."

"You have to search your heart, Jimmy," Mr. Barrow said simply. "Our friendship is the best thing that's happened to me in many years, and I don't want this note to come between us. I'm prepared for the possibility that you didn't know what you were doing when you wrote it."

Relief washed over me. I just wanted things to go back to the way they were. I didn't want to think about the note, or my confusion, or the reality that Mr. Barrow had without a doubt become the most important person in my life. I nodded, taking a deep breath that ended with an audible wheeze.

"I don't like the sound of that," my friend said. "Do you have any medicine you can take before you go to sleep?"

"There's some chest liniment in that drawer," I said, pointing. "I normally only have to use it when I have a chest cold, which come to think of it, might be what I'm coming down with. Alfred was coughing yesterday, and my asthma normally doesn't bother me this much."

Mr. Barrow retrieved the bottle and uncapped it. I unbuttoned my shirt, uncomfortably aware that the under butler was probably enjoying the sight. I removed my undershirt and nodded when Mr. Barrow murmured, "Shall I?"

I was fully capable of applying the liniment myself, and I was quite sure Mr. Barrow knew it.

I closed my eyes, jumping slightly as the cold mixture touched my skin for the first time. Mr. Barrow's hands applied light pressure as they massaged the medicine into my chest, and I immediately felt relief. It was easier to breathe, but my breath quickened inexplicably.

"Is that better?" Mr. Barrow whispered, and I suddenly found it was hard to speak.

"A bit more, please," I managed to say, not wanting the feeling of my friend's hands on my chest to end. Mr. Barrow's hands continued massaging, and I felt his fingertips brush against my nipple.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, misinterpreting my gasp, which to my horror was a gasp of pleasure. I felt blood rushing to my groin, and in a matter of seconds, my erection now strained against my trousers.

Desperately, I tried to rationalize what was happening. It was my body responding to touch, nothing more. It had been far too long, and a young man had needs. But I'd never felt this way with Lady Anstruther.

"My God, don't stop," I heard myself moaning. I heard Mr. Barrow's breath quicken and his hands moved lower, caressing my stomach and making me shudder. When I felt gentle hands stroking my hardness through my trousers, I thought I would pass out. It was wrong, so wrong, and I knew it. It was heaven on earth, but it would send me to hell.

"Jimmy," Mr. Barrow panted. "How I love you." I felt his weight shifting as he moved closer, preparing to kiss me.

And in an instant, I was transported back to the night he'd kissed me in my sleep. Irrationally, I was sure that Alfred would come bursting through the door any second. I pushed Mr. Barrow away roughly, hating myself as I did it.

"I can't do it," I said as confusion and pain washed over his face. "It's sinful and it's not natural."

"Don't, Jimmy," Mr. Barrow begged. "We don't have to do this ever if you don't want; just please don't push me away again. I can't bear it."

"I need time to think," I answered. "Please just go."

He went, without looking back, and I felt hollow inside. What had I done? I was terrified, but I didn't want to lose this friendship.

I shivered, then touched my chest, which was still slippery with liniment. I rubbed the nasty smelling stuff in, closing my eyes and reliving the past few minutes. I was hard and throbbing again as I remembered Mr. Barrow's gentle touch.

Desperately, I tried to visualize Lady Anstruther as I unbuttoned my trousers and began stroking myself. But as the pleasure built, my mind was filled only with the image of a man with dark hair, blue eyes, and muscular, yet gentle arms. My climax ripped through me and I could only gasp out one word as I came:

"Thomas!"

But I was all alone.


	8. Chapter 8

For the second time in my life, I found myself reeling out of Jimmy's bedroom, eyes burning and heart pounding in confusion. But this time I was angry as well as hurt and confused. I had respected Jimmy by keeping my distance all year since the last incident, and I had also been careful not to take advantage of our new friendship. But what was he playing at?

So he had written the note after all, but not while in his right mind, apparently. I'd dared to think for a few minutes that Jimmy was coming around to what I hoped were his true, and buried, feelings. His body had certainly been aroused just now, and God knew my own had been – I was still so hard that it was painful. But a nagging voice in my head reminded me,

"He was aroused with Lady Anstruther too. It was probably thinking of her, with your hands on him, which aroused him in the first place."

I wished now that I hadn't given in to my lust – it had complicated our friendship, just when we'd had such a lovely day together. We could have gone on as friends, but Jimmy had been so eager, and I'd been so sure it was what he wanted. I never would have dreamed of touching him if he hadn't begged me, but being pushed away had wounded me deeply.

There would be precious little sleep for me tonight, that much I knew. Sinking wearily onto my own bed, I reached under my pillow out of habit to withdraw Jimmy's note. It wasn't there. I checked the bedside table, the pages of my current book, under the bed, and any other conceivable place in my room where the note could be, but it was nowhere to be found.

Consumed with panic, my arousal now long forgotten, I crashed down the stairs to the servants' hall. Come to think of it, I had no memory of picking the letter up after Jimmy's asthma attack, so it was probably still on the table. All was dark and quiet, and I switched on the light, sure I'd see the note, but I did not. Wildly, I searched high and low, checking every nook and cranny in the kitchen as well as the servants' hall, but without success.

My only hope was that Jimmy had put the note in his pocket without my noticing, and it seemed the only logical explanation, so reluctantly I turned off the light and made my way back up to my lonely bedroom. I pulled from beneath my mattress a well-worn book of poems, a present from the Duke that I had never been able to bear to part with.

The series of poems was called "Calamus," by an American poet named Walt Whitman, and the Duke had told me that the poems were considered highly controversial because of their "unnatural" themes. I thumbed through the pages and found a particularly appropriate verse:

"_I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return'd,_

_Yet out of that I have written these songs."_

Tears streamed down my face as I continued to read.

"_For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night,_

_In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined toward me,_

_And his arm lay lightly around my breast—and that night I was happy."_

"Oh God," I whispered, not at all sure anyone was listening. "Will I never escape my loneliness?"

Sleep eventually claimed me, a blessed relief from the hell in which I now lived.

"Mr. Barrow?"

Mr. Carson's voice interrupted my bleak thoughts as I polished silver in the butler's pantry the next day.

"Yes, Mr. Carson?" I responded, trying not to let my misery show in my face. I hadn't spoken to Jimmy all day.

"I have a favor to ask you," the butler continued. "Mr. Bates and Anna have received a telegram informing them that Anna's mother is gravely ill. They have requested, and been granted, time off to visit the poor woman."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said as I went on polishing.

"However, His Lordship has also just informed me that he must travel to London on some matter of business involving the settling of Mr. Matthew's will," Mr. Carson continued. "Once this morning's burial is behind us, he wishes to get this matter settled as soon as possible. I thought perhaps you might accompany His Lordship as his valet in Mr. Bates' absence."

"Certainly I can," I answered, feeling a bit of excitement. I hadn't been to London in a long time and the change of scenery would do me good.

"Or I could ask Mr. Molesley," Mr. Carson considered. "The poor man hasn't known what to do with himself these past few days, since the horrible accident."

I felt genuinely sorry for Mr. Molesley. The man was a bit of a sad sack, but he was pleasant enough and now he found himself in the same position I'd been in last year – out of a job. I assumed Mrs. Crawley would take him back as butler, but nothing had been officially decided yet.

"Oh, no; I think I'd be better suited to the task," I answered quickly. "After all, I've already been His Lordship's valet."

"Right, then," Mr. Carson agreed. "You had better get everything packed now, assuming you plan to attend the funeral later this morning. His Lordship wishes to leave on the five o'clock train."

Later that night, in the Crawleys' seldom used London house, I unpacked His Lordship's pajamas, aware that the older man was a million miles away. I cleared my throat.

"I haven't had the chance to say, my Lord, how very sorry I am. Mr. Matthew was a good man."

Lord Grantham's eyes were red-rimmed. "He was the son I never had, Barrow," my employer said in a wooden voice. "And I'm more heartbroken than words can say. I thank you for your sympathy."

I nodded, finished the nighttime preparations, and closed the bedroom door. I made my way to my own room, where I pulled out the newspaper I'd bought earlier at King's Cross station. After catching up on the day's headlines, I found myself reading a small advertisement, tucked in the bottom corner of a page.

"The Golden Fox, a pub for men of refined and unusual taste," the copy read. To the casual observer that might mean nothing, but the Duke had enlightened me a great deal on the culture of men like us. Nothing could be stated outright, of course, but he had told me that one or two clubs existed that catered to men of our sort, and that one had to read between the lines of the advertisements.

It was all much easier in France and Italy, the Duke had said, where male relationships were tolerated and clubs catering to such men were much easier to find. I couldn't be sure I was even right about the Golden Fox, but my curiosity was piqued. I still longed for Jimmy, but if I couldn't have him, then I'd be damned if I'd waste a rare trip to London by doing nothing. I had made up my mind – I would check out the Golden Fox.

I didn't dare give the cab driver the exact address, so I got out at the nearest corner and made my way to the address listed in the advertisement. A man curtly greeted me just inside the door.

"Referral, please," he said.

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, confused.

The man looked annoyed that I didn't seem to know the rules.

"No one gets in without a reference from one of our existing members," he explained. "Are you acquainted with anyone who frequents this establishment?"

I answered without thinking, having no idea if it would work or not.

"The Duke of Crowborough," I answered, and the man gestured me through wordlessly. It had worked. I must be right about what kind of establishment this was, and what's more, the Duke apparently was no stranger here.

I made my way into the dark, smoky place and ordered a drink at the bar. Looking around, I felt as if I'd stepped into another universe. Men sat together intimately, some of them kissing, while some even danced together. Never in my life had I thought I'd see such a sight. It should have been exhilarating, but I couldn't seem to shake my loneliness. Then, I felt a hand on my shoulder and found myself looking into a face I hadn't seen for nearly ten years.

"Phillip." I spoke the Duke's first name rather coldly, not caring if he was offended that I would dare to address him so informally after all these years.

"Thomas," my former lover answered. "How are you?"

"What's it to you?" I snapped.

"Look, I want you to know, for what it's worth, that I wish things hadn't ended the way they did," Phillip told me. "I couldn't believe my eyes just now when I saw you walk in. And I thought perhaps I could make it up to you."

I felt his hand on my thigh then, moving closer to my groin. In spite of my best efforts, I could feel blood flowing to my penis. _Bloody hell_. I'd never brought myself to release last night after my encounter with Jimmy, and it was clear that my body was primed to respond to the slightest touch.

It was a strange feeling, the contempt I held for the man who sat next to me, while my body thrilled to his caress. All I could think of when I stared into his eyes, which held a certain coldness, was the way he'd treated me the last time we'd met. The letters filled with my love for him that he'd hurled into the fire. The sneer on his handsome face when he'd referred to our love as a "few weeks of madness."

But there was no way I could resist the indescribable feelings coursing through me as Phillip's fingers squeezed and stroked my now throbbing penis through my trousers. It had been far too long since anyone had touched me. Wordlessly, I got up and followed him as he led me upstairs to a private room. Breathing heavily, we tore at each other's clothes in a fury to get to bare skin.

Falling back onto the bed, one final memory came to me – the fact that Phillip had been rather a selfish lover, often losing interest after his climax and not bothering about whether or not I'd gotten release. _What is there to like about this man?_ I mused. But of course, I knew. He was handsome and I'd been young and desperately happy to have met another man like myself. I couldn't have afforded to be choosy.

Then all thoughts vanished as Phillip kissed my neck, making me shiver in delight, and began working his way down, nibbling and sucking my nipples, sending waves of pure pleasure through me. He kissed his way down my stomach and I felt his warm breath on my penis, so tantalizingly close.

When his mouth closed over me, I groaned in pure ecstasy. I'd foregone this feeling for so long and it was intoxicating. Phillip's expertise had improved, if possible, and I feared I wasn't going to last long, despite trying to imagine Mrs. Patmore naked to slow me down.

"Oh, God," I gasped as Phillip swirled his tongue over the head before paying attention to the sensitive underside. With his free hand, he cradled my balls and stroked the sensitive patch of skin just behind them. I panted in desperation, feeling the telltale signs of impending orgasm. I arched my hips and cried out with the intensity of my climax, feeling spurt after spurt fill Phillip's mouth.

I lay there for a moment, basking in the afterglow as my breathing and heart rate returned to normal, and smiled as I realized what I would do next. I sat up and observed Phillip, who was still quite obviously in a high state of arousal. His large penis was red and throbbing, and despite the fact that I'd just come, it turned me on a bit. But not enough to make me change my mind. Standing up, I turned away from Phillip and began putting my clothes back on.

"Thomas, where are you going?" asked a bewildered Phillip, reaching for me. I shook his hand off. "Please, I'm desperate for you," he tried again, and I made no attempt to hide my disgust.

"Oh, haven't you heard, Phillip?" I said dryly. "One swallow doesn't make a summer. How right you were."

"You'll pay for this, Thomas," Phillip threatened through clenched teeth and I gave him a withering glance.

"Oh, I don't think so," I responded easily. "You have far more to lose than I do. And if you do try to come after me, you can be assured that I will take great pleasure in informing your wife how you spend your nights away from her."

And with that, I swept from the room, down the stairs, and back out onto the street.

_What just happened?_ I marveled as I hailed another cab. I couldn't stop smiling. Revenge had been sweet – and now I couldn't wait to get back to Downton. That was where I belonged.

**A/N: The Walt Whitman poems are in the public domain, but he deserves full credit for them. Also, the Golden Fox, while fictional, is based on research I've done that indicates there were a couple of gay pubs in London at that time. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing; I appreciate it! **


	9. Chapter 9

I woke up the morning of Mr. Matthew's burial with a knot in my stomach. Much like I had felt the morning after that night over a year ago, I didn't want to face Mr. Barrow, but my feelings were much different now than they had been then. I was still confused, but unlike last year, I wasn't angry. I was terribly afraid.

Afraid, because despite all my best efforts, I could no longer deny the truth I'd been avoiding: I was attracted to Mr. Barrow in a way I had never dreamed was possible. Remembering his strong arms supporting me during my asthma attack made me weak-kneed. In his arms, I felt safe, protected and loved. And without him, I felt lost and incomplete.

Last night, the dream that had evaded my memory several nights ago had returned, and this time, it didn't fade after I woke up. The dream was simple: Mr. Barrow and I were walking hand and hand through a golden field, talking, laughing and embracing. The dream told me what I had not yet been able to admit to myself: I loved Mr. Barrow. I hadn't been out of my mind when I wrote the letter, but instead, I had been suppressing my true feelings since then, out of sheer terror.

Two men? Unthinkable. I shuddered to think how close I had come last night to succumbing to my overwhelming desire for Mr. Barrow's touch. I knew something had to be done, and I laid plans to take care of this problem once and for all. During breakfast, I asked Mr. Carson permission to stop in and see Dr. Clarkson after the burial.

"For my lungs, you see," I added quickly as the older man frowned. "I'm afraid I'm getting ill."

It was no lie, but my lungs were not the real reason I wanted to see the doctor.

"Very well, James," Mr. Carson conceded. "I suppose Alfred, Mr. Barrow and I can manage the luncheon following the service, but Mr. Barrow must be on the five o'clock train with His Lordship, so I expect you back well before then."

"I shouldn't be long," I agreed before going about my morning duties.

The service and burial were depressing, to say the least, and I felt genuine sympathy for the entire family as they grieved for Mr. Matthew. My stomach flipped when I glimpsed Mr. Barrow, eyes red and teary, paying his respects, but I made sure to avoid the under butler. Dr. Clarkson was among those paying their respects, and I sought him out as the family began making their way to the cars to take them back to Downton.

"I wonder if you might spare a few minutes for a consultation," I said in a low voice. "It's somewhat urgent."

"Certainly I can," Dr. Clarkson agreed. "I've seen you at Downton, of course, but I'm afraid your name escapes me."

"It's James Kent, Doctor," I replied as we began the short walk from the church to Downton Cottage Hospital. "First footman."

"And what is troubling you, James?" the doctor inquired.

"I'm afraid it's of a private nature," I replied, cheeks burning, and the doctor had the good grace not to press the issue.

Moments later, in the examination room, my heart raced as I wondered where to begin.

"All in your good time, James," the doctor said. "In the meanwhile, may I begin a basic health examination?"

I nodded and Dr. Clarkson began checking my reflexes and listening to my heart. He frowned.

"Your heart rate is elevated and your lungs sound congested," the doctor informed me. "But that was not, I take it, the purpose of your visit here?"

"No," I answered. "But I've had a flare-up of my asthma recently, though it hasn't bothered me since I was a child. Our second footman recently had a chest cold and I fear he may have passed it on to me."

"I see," Dr. Clarkson responded. "Well, it's not a cause for great concern, although I would advise you to take care that it does not worsen."

I nodded.

"And now, since I find I have rather a busy schedule this afternoon, I think we must get to the heart of your private health concern," the doctor continued.

This was the moment of truth, and I had no choice but to plunge in with both feet.

"I find I'm dealing with unwanted urges," I managed to say. "Unnatural urges."

My heart broke as I said the difficult words. Were my feelings really unwanted? No, they weren't. I loved the way I felt when I was with Mr. Barrow, and it went far beyond the physical lust that I felt for him. But everything I had ever been taught pointed to the same conclusion: Such feelings would surely lead to disaster. Just look at the case of the playwright Oscar Wilde, who served two years' hard labor for the supposed crime of taking a male lover.

"I…see," Dr. Clarkson said slowly. "While I suspect I know what you are saying, you will need to be more specific."

"Feelings for men," I whispered, although the truth was that it was one _particular_ man. "The sorts of feelings other men have about women."

"Sexual inversion," the doctor answered, and his manner was matter-of-fact. "A more common affliction than many realize."

"Are you disgusted?" I dared to ask.

"I am a medical doctor, James," Dr. Clarkson answered. "Mr. Travis may well have a thing or two to say about this particular problem, but I do not. My job is to help you."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"So there is something that can be done?" I asked, half relieved and half disappointed. The thought of no longer feeling the way I now did about Mr. Barrow made me feel curiously empty, even while the thought also gave me hope.

"That is a difficult question to answer," the doctor said. "There are treatments, yes, but I'm not convinced of their effectiveness."

"Tell me more, please," I pleaded as images of the lovely dream faded, replaced by images of angry mobs and eternal hellfire. I couldn't get the words of my parents and vicar out of my mind – sexual perversion was an unforgivable sin.

The doctor withdrew a pamphlet from his desk drawer and gave it to me.

"I am acquainted with a physician in London who performs what he calls 'shock therapy' for patients with sexual disorders," Dr. Clarkson explained. "But I must warn you that it is not pleasant – nor do I see any conclusive proof that it works."

"I'm willing to try," I said eagerly. "Can you help me get an appointment?"

"If you're certain this is what you want, James," the doctor said seriously. "I don't need to tell you that this type of abnormal sexual behavior is a criminal offense in England, but I understand it is at least tolerated abroad, in France, for example."

To think I almost ended up in France with Lady Anstruther, I mused, although my dalliances with the good lady seemed a lifetime away. But then, I never would have met Mr. Barrow, which was a sobering thought. Oh, God, what was I even thinking? Meeting Mr. Barrow was the entire problem I was trying to correct.

"Yes, it is what I want," I said quietly but firmly.

"Then I shall telephone Dr. Spencer at once to set up an appointment," Dr. Clarkson answered.

Half an hour later, I was bicycling back to Downton, a slip of paper in my pocket confirming my appointment with Dr. Spencer for the following day. I was surprised to be seen so quickly, but Dr. Clarkson was an old acquaintance of the London doctor, who had an opening so soon due to a cancellation.

My only problem would be getting away, although tomorrow was already my half day off. I would need to be on the early train to London, and even so I wouldn't be back until after dinner, in all likelihood. I knew Mr. Carson wouldn't approve of the extra time, especially with Mr. Bates already out of town, and Mr. Barrow leaving for London this afternoon with His Lordship.

Back at Downton, I knocked at the butler's pantry door and found Mr. Carson and Mr. Barrow going over household inventory lists.

"Ah, James, you've returned," Mr. Carson noted, while Mr. Barrow met my eyes for one agonizing moment before returning to his figures. My breath quickened and my stomach tightened. Face to face, it was even harder to deny the feelings that now overpowered me. Mr. Barrow's deep blue eyes, his very presence, made my head spin. I was thankful for Mr. Carson's presence to keep me in check.

"Yes, Mr. Carson, and I have a favor to ask," I began. "Dr. Clarkson thinks I need to see a specialist in London, and there's an opening for an appointment tomorrow."

I saw Mr. Barrow's sharp intake of breath, and an expression of such tender concern spread across his face that it made me want to weep. Why did our love have to be so misplaced, so unnatural? Why couldn't things be different?

"Nothing serious, I hope?" Mr. Carson asked, interrupting my thoughts.

"I hope not, Mr. Carson," I answered, feeling guilty that I was deliberately allowing the senior butler to believe it was my lungs that required the specialist.

"Well, I can hardly stand in the way of your health," the older man conceded. "We shall have to make do without you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson," I said with relief, as Mr. Barrow put down his pen and made his way to the door.

"I'd best be off," he said, addressing Mr. Carson and avoiding my eyes. "I've already taken out the cases and I'll see if His Lordship is ready to leave for the station."

"Safe travels, Mr. Barrow," I dared to say, and my friend met my eyes again, seeming to search my face for answers. "And you as well, James," he responded before disappearing. I wondered dully what it would be like the next time I saw my friend the under butler. Would the shock treatment work? Would I look upon him with indifference, as I looked upon Alfred or Ivy now? Only time would tell.

The next day found me sitting nervously in the examination room of Dr. Ronald Spencer, wondering what awaited me.

"Mr. Kent," Dr. Spencer said gravely, looking deep into my eyes and making me feel uneasy. "Before we continue, I want to be sure that you are wholly committed to changing your ways."

Was I wholly committed? I wanted to be, and I figured that was more or less the same thing.

"I am, Dr. Spencer," I answered. "I want to be normal, like other men."

"And so you shall be, if you are willing to let the treatment work," the doctor said. "Many of my former patients are now married, I am happy to say. Do you wish to marry?"

The question took me aback. I had never really considered marriage – I honestly could not picture myself with a wife. There was only person I could imagine wanting to spend every day with – and spending my life with Mr. Barrow was out of the question.

"Maybe one day, sir," I finally responded.

The doctor laughed. "All in good time. Now, let us proceed. Remove your trousers, please, and lie back on the examination table."

Reluctantly I did so, and felt something cold and metallic closing over my genitals. I winced and Dr. Spencer frowned.

"You must buck up, my man. This isn't going to be pleasant. I am going to show you a series of photographs, and when I detect arousal, I will send an electric shock to your penis."

The doctor began by showing me photographs of naked women and women and men kissing and engaging in far more intimate activities. I willed myself to become aroused, to prove to the doctor and myself that I was capable. But the pictures did nothing. After several photographs, I saw Dr. Spencer make a notation on his notepad. He then reached for another pile of photographs.

As I viewed the first one, which showed a young man with a striking resemblance to Mr. Barrow, I couldn't help admiring his sculpted physique. I felt blood pumping to my groin and prayed that I could hide my arousal. But the next photograph showed men kissing and touching each other, and I was taken back to the previous night, when Mr. Barrow had touched me so intimately. Oh, God, there was no hiding it now. My penis was fully hard and throbbing and I feared what would come next.

Nothing could have prepared me for the shock and pain that swept through my body as Dr. Spencer pushed a button and delivered an electrical current to my genitals. I cried out and the doctor looked at me with thinly disguised contempt.

"We've only just begun," he said in a detached voice, and so began the worst hour of my life. I waded through it in a haze of pain, enduring one shock after another, sure that I would never recover. As Dr. Spencer continued to show photographs and increase the intensity of the shocks, I found myself wishing I could die. Finally, the doctor removed the device and set it aside.

"How do you feel?" he asked me. "If the treatment has been successful, the thought of the male body will now repulse and disgust you."

Nothing about my feelings had changed, other than a strong dislike for this "doctor." What had Dr. Clarkson gotten me into? But for some reason, stubbornness I suppose, I could not bring myself to lie and end this miserable excuse for medical treatment.

"I feel no different, sir," I answered boldly, and Dr. Spencer's face twisted.

"Then I think it is time for phase two," he announced.

A wave of fear washed over me. What was phase two? Something told me it would be worse than phase one, which terrified me. What was I doing here? I feared this had been a colossal mistake. But despite my misgivings, I nodded mutely as the doctor led me into a room with a reclining chair placed in front of a sink, not unlike the setup at a barber shop.

The doctor indicated that I should sit in the chair, which he adjusted so that my head was positioned directly below the spigot. Before I knew what was happening, the doctor had strapped me into the chair so that I could not move. It was then that I realized with utter panic and horror what was to happen next.

"No!" I cried, struggling against the restraints. "Let me go, you sick bastard!"

But the doctor merely smirked.

"You came here to rid yourself of perversion, Mr. Kent, and you signed a paper allowing me to perform any treatment necessary. I have decided that more drastic measures are indeed necessary, as you are proving to be a difficult case."

"Now," he continued. "Are you, or are you not, sexually attracted to the male body?"

"No, I am not," I answered, aware of how lame such a declaration was now.

"Liar," the doctor responded with chilling calmness, and turned on the water, which cascaded over my face. My heart raced as I tried to fight down my panic. I closed my eyes and held my breath as long as I could, but was finally forced to try to breathe. I sputtered and choked as my lungs filled with water, a terror I had never known before washing over me.

Just as I was sure I was going to drown, the water mercifully stopped and I coughed deeply, bringing up mouthfuls of water and spitting them out miserably.

"Now then," Dr. Spencer said, still maddeningly calm. "Let us try again. Do you look upon men with lust?"

"Yes," I whispered, ashamed to the core but unwilling to undergo the torture again. I honestly feared for my life, although at the moment ending my life altogether didn't sound like such a bad idea.

"We are now going to try an exercise," the doctor said. He turned on a phonograph and pleasant music filled the room as he once again began showing me the female photographs.

"I am teaching your brain to associate images of the female body with pleasantness, and images of the male body with pain and discomfort," Dr. Spencer explained. "I will now show you the photographs that aroused you a short time ago."

The doctor showed me several of the male photographs again, and my memories of the previous session were still so clear that I felt no arousal at all, only flashbacks of the intense pain. But it didn't matter, because the doctor was turning on the water again. Once more, I endured the agony of near-drowning, and the second time around, I coughed harder and deeper after the torture.

I was now openly sobbing and begging for mercy, but Dr. Spencer was deaf to my pleas. Again and again, the cycle continued as I thrashed and tried desperately to escape. It was the worst thing I had ever experienced in my life, and ironically, the only thing keeping me sane was the thought of seeing Mr. Barrow again. I prayed Dr. Spencer wouldn't be able to guess that his treatment had backfired completely. I now desired my friend more than ever.

At long last, Dr. Spencer turned the faucet off for the final time.

"I think we have made real progress today, Mr. Kent," the doctor said pleasantly as he unstrapped me from the chair and gave me a towel for my face and hair. "I am quite sure that your unnatural feelings will trouble you no more. And now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my office."

And he was gone without another word, not that I was in any condition to confront him. I was barely able to speak. The cycle of near-drowning had taken its toll, and my lungs rattled with each breath. My entire body ached as I dragged myself out the door and onto the bustling streets of London. I pulled from my pocket the slip of paper Mr. Carson had given me with the address of the family's home in London, just in case I missed my train back.

Wheezing, I hailed a cab and directed the driver to the address. I could only hope that His Lordship was still at his business meeting, and wouldn't see me in such a state. I stumbled to the front door and knocked, and the relief I felt when Mr. Barrow answered the door was overwhelming. His eyes widened as he took in my disheveled appearance.

Swaying on my feet, I croaked out the four words that I had denied for so long:

"I love you, Thomas."

Then everything went black.

**A/N: The opinions in this chapter are not mine, but intended to reflect the opinions of the period. I did try to make Dr. Clarkson as sympathetic as could be believable for the era, when homosexuality was illegal and considered a mental illness. Sadly, the anti-gay shock treatment described is based in reality, and was being practiced here in the US as recently as the 70's and 80's at the Mormon university Brigham Young. (There are fascinating interviews about it on YouTube which I viewed as part of my research.) Thanks so much as always for reading and reviewing! Also, there are supposed to be page breaks in a couple of places, but I'm having issues with them, so I apologize!**


	10. Chapter 10

After my unexpected encounter with the Duke, I was flying high, euphoric thanks to the unexpected and welcome release, and also because after so many years, I had been able to confront Philip and put him in his place. And about time, too. Although it had been a long time since I'd had feelings for the arrogant aristocrat, I had still found myself filled with unresolved anger every time I thought about him, and now that was gone. Good riddance. He was someone else's problem and for multiple reasons, I pitied his wife.

Back at the London house, I quietly unlocked the door – thank goodness I was in charge and didn't need to answer to anyone as to my whereabouts at this unseemly hour - and made my way to my room. _Wonder how Jimmy will get on tomorrow at the lung specialist's,_ I mused, a pang of fear washing over me. I couldn't stop replaying in my mind the terrifying moment when my friend had been unable to breathe. I'd seen a man die in the trenches of an asthma attack – he'd apparently hidden the condition, because he would have been deemed unfit to serve had it been known.

Why did Dr. Clarkson think Jimmy needed to see a specialist? Was something seriously wrong with him? No matter what our uncertain future held, I knew in my heart that I would love and care for Jimmy Kent until my dying day. I wouldn't allow myself to even consider the absolute worst, that Jimmy could be suffering from consumption. If so, he'd have to go to the seaside for his health, and even that was no guarantee of recovery.

Reluctantly, I got ready for bed and tried to sleep. I wasn't tired, but it was a few short hours until I needed to be up to dress His Lordship for his business meetings with Mr. Matthew's solicitor and executor of his will.

I slept restlessly, wishing for the thousandth time that I had someone to share my bed. "I envy you," I'd told Mr. Bates over a year ago, and it was still true. He and Anna shared their love openly, and society was happy for them. I was, it seemed, condemned to a life of loneliness and longing.

The next morning, after dressing His Lordship and sending him on his way, I found myself with a rare bit of time to myself. There was always something to keep me busy at Downton, but opening the London house for a night required little effort on my part. I was to give the house a once-over to make sure everything was in order, but other than that, nothing was expected of me. His Lordship and I were taking our meals out, and a maid would be brought in after our departure to see that the house was put back in order.

Unaccustomed to the luxury of a few hours to myself, I took off my jacket and tried to lose myself in a novel I had recently purchased, "Howard's End" by E.M. Forster. I had been fascinated by Forster's writing even before reading a story in a tabloid which claimed that the author had unnatural attraction to men. That had only increased my interest, although of course none of his published novels actually involved men like me. The tabloid article had claimed, though, that Forster had a great many scandalous writings which he planned to leave unpublished until his death.

I became engrossed in the story, which involved interactions between the classes, but after a time, found myself nodding off due to my nearly sleepless night. I must have slept the entire morning away, and then some, because it was well into the afternoon when I was jolted awake by a knock at the front door.

Who could that be? I wondered. His Lordship had told me he was going to dine at his club this evening after his day of meetings, and not to expect him until late. Curious and a bit irritated to have my afternoon nap interrupted, I put on my jacket, strode through the front hall, and answered the door.

To my utter amazement, there stood Jimmy, looking disheveled and seriously ill. What in God's name –

"I love you, Thomas," he choked out, and I caught him just before he hit the ground.

Gasping in disbelief at the unexpected and welcome words, and with the effort of supporting Jimmy's weight, I half carried, half dragged the young footman through the hall and onto the sofa in the front room. Panicking, I took his pulse and was relieved to find it weak but steady.

Just as I was wondering whether I could take the risk of leaving Jimmy alone while I telephoned for a doctor, his eyelids began to flutter and he began stirring.

"Mr. Barrow," he mumbled, and even in the midst of my confused worry, I felt a pang of disappointment. A moment ago Jimmy had called me Thomas for the first time, and I wanted to hear it again.

"I'm here, Jimmy," I murmured, daring to brush his golden hair out of his eyes. Oh, God, he was so perfect. Yet so very vulnerable. What on earth was wrong with him? And why had the lung specialist apparently sent him away in such an appalling condition?

"What's happened, Jimmy?" I breathed, helping him into a reclined position on the sofa. "What did the lung specialist say?

"I didn't see a lung specialist," Jimmy answered haltingly, pausing to cough deeply. I winced at the hacking, rattling sound that indicated severe lung congestion. "I saw a specialist who tried to…cure me."

"Cure you of what?" I feared the very worst. It might be worse than consumption.

Jimmy's eyes filled with tears and he turned his face toward the back of the sofa.

"My unnatural urges," he whispered. "You saw how I reacted to your touch the other night. It scared me because I know how wrong it is, and Dr. Clarkson told me there was a doctor here in London who could help."

"Help you how?" I was a little amused. "What'd he do, bring in a tart for you? Give you lessons on how to be a proper ladies' man?"

But Jimmy was deathly white and I saw fear mar his perfect features.

"It was barbaric," he said haltingly, turning to face me. "He gave me electric shocks, but that was nothing compared to the water torture. He brought me to the brink of drowning, over and over. I breathed in a lot of water and I think it's aggravated my lungs."

Rage immediately surged through me. "Of all the bloody rubbish!" I was seething. "What in Christ's name gives him the right?"

"Well, I did," Jimmy admitted with another long, deep cough. "I signed the consent form."

"But did he tell you what the treatment was? I demanded.

"To be honest, I didn't even ask," Jimmy admitted, and I felt like shaking him. Honestly, did the man have any common sense at all? He had signed a paper for some unknown treatment without even knowing what it was? But I couldn't stay angry at Jimmy for long. He might be naïve, but who would have expected this? It was the 20th century, after all, and even though I knew men like me were abhorred by most respectable people, I hadn't thought medieval-style torture was standard practice. Then again, I'd never attempted to "cure" myself either.

That line of thought had me annoyed again. One thing I'd always prided myself on was my self-respect. I knew my preferences were different, but I refused to accept society's judgment that they were perverse and disgusting. Jimmy, on the other hand, was a picture of self-loathing. I wasn't passing judgment on my young friend, but at his age I had long since come to terms with who I was, and I wished he would do the same.

"Well, given what you said to me on the doorstep just now, I guess the treatment didn't work," I said wryly, wondering how Jimmy would react.

He flinched and turned to face me. "Mr. Barrow –"

"Isn't it time you started calling me Thomas?" I interjected softly. "You said it to me just before you fainted."

"I thought I was dying," he admitted. "I wanted to tell you that I finally remembered writing the note. I remembered because it's the truth. I love you, Mr. Barrow, and I guess I always will. But life isn't like a fairy tale. Nothing can come of it; surely you know that."

"No, Jimmy, I don't know that," I answered hotly. "How can you sit back and allow an unjust world to dictate your future? How can you stand yourself?"

"That's where we'll always differ," Jimmy said simply. "I care what the world thinks of me – I always have. It's why I'd never even allowed myself to acknowledge the side of me that desires men. I couldn't face it, but then you – well, it was different with you. I've fallen in love in spite of myself."

How long I had waited to hear these words. But never had I thought they could bring so much pain.

"So that's it, then?" The harshness in my voice surprised me. "Well, there goes our friendship along with it."

Jimmy looked pained and tried to speak but I cut him off.

"I was prepared to love you but content myself with friendship, Jimmy," I began, willing myself not to cry. "I could accept it when I thought you were a ladies' man. But this is beyond my understanding and beyond my forgiveness."

"Mr. Barrow, please," Jimmy pleaded. "Can't we go back to the way things were?"

"I don't think we can, Jimmy," I answered, my heart breaking. "I wish we could. One of us needs to leave Downton."

Jimmy let out a strangled sob and launched into his heaviest round of coughing yet, ending with him bringing up a sizable amount of blood. Alarmed, I went to the telephone and had the operator put me in touch with the nearest hospital. After I explained Jimmy's condition, it was agreed than an ambulance would be dispatched to the house.

Meanwhile, I brought Jimmy a drink of water and a blanket and did my best to make him comfortable.

"Mr. Barrow…Thomas…" Jimmy's voice was weaker than it had been. "I'm not sure I'm going to live, and I'm not sure I want to."

"Don't be silly," I said brusquely, trying to hide my fear. Jimmy could be a bit dramatic at times, but his symptoms really were concerning.

"I mean it," he continued. "And you're going to hate me for asking this, but even though it can't ever go any further, would you…could you…kiss me?"

I hated myself for giving in, when I was so frustrated and disappointed in Jimmy. But wild horses couldn't have kept me away. Tenderly, I knelt in front of the sofa and brought my lips down to Jimmy's own soft, inviting ones.

"You won't push me away this time?" I breathed, breaking away from the sweet embrace. Jimmy's only response was to wrap his arms around my neck and pull me closer, deepening the kiss. My quickening breaths matched Jimmy's own labored breathing. How long I had yearned for this moment, and I never wanted it to end. Because when it ended, I would be faced with the harsh and cruel reality that things were at an end between us. Jimmy had made up his mind, and he had chosen conformity to the world over me.

Several minutes passed blissfully as I held Jimmy close, relishing the feel of his chest against mine, wondering how I would face my life once we parted. And all too soon, I heard the sharp knock of the paramedics at the door. Hurrying to answer it, I bustled around the room, making use of my medical training as I assisted the paramedics in transferring Jimmy to the waiting ambulance.

"Will you come with me?" Jimmy's eyes were pleading.

"I'm his cousin," I said to the nearest paramedic in an attempt to explain the situation. "And no, Jimmy, I can't. I can't have His Lordship coming home and finding me missing."

I hated the look in his eyes, but there really was nothing I could do. I touched Jimmy's shoulder briefly.

"You'll be all right," I said by way of goodbye, and turned on my heel and made my way back into the house, where I finally let loose the tears that had been threatening to spill themselves ever since Jimmy's arrival.

**A/N: Sorry for so much angst, but you never know what's ahead! And I haven't forgotten about the missing letter, either! Thank you all so much for the kind reviews. It is so exciting every time I see that there's a new one! Oh, and also, E.M. Forster really did write a book called Maurice in 1913, but stipulated that it couldn't be published until after his death (in 1970) because it was a male/male love story. The Merchant Ivory movie they made from it is sooo good, and I actually discovered it thanks to one of the authors here on FF who wrote a story in which Jimmy meets Alec Scudder, one of the men in Maurice! I definitely recommend the movie, and if you do watch, bear in mind that in my opinion, the second half is better than the first. Thank you all again! **


	11. Chapter 11

I watched through the window, tears clouding my vision, as the paramedics shut the door of the ambulance and sped off toward the hospital.

"Jimmy," I whispered. I was losing him and the knowledge was killing me. I'd felt empty and alone many times throughout my life – most of the time, in fact – but this was a new depth of anguish. We'd had such a short time to enjoy our friendship before things had crumbled, and now I found myself second guessing everything I had done. If only I hadn't given in the night I had applied the liniment to Jimmy's chest, we might still be friends and I would have had the chance to avoid spoiling things.

But yet - "My God, don't stop," he'd moaned, and the mere memory caused my trousers to tighten a bit. At the time, I'd thought that it was just lust he was feeling that night, and never would have dreamed that his feelings went as deep as my own. That Jimmy actually loved me – ME, the man he had so violently rejected – was beyond belief.

I knew my mind still hadn't fully comprehended it, and I wasn't sure it ever would. How could he really love me if he was willing to give me up? I had loved Philip, and I never would have turned my back on him – Philip had been the one to reject me, and it had taken my heart a long time to heal from the blow. It didn't matter that in hindsight, my lover had been selfish and aloof. My love had been blind to Philip's faults, and I had been fiercely loyal to him.

Jimmy couldn't love me with the same passion and intensity that I loved him, and that realization only intensified my grief. But I really needed to get myself under control. It had completely escaped my mind that His Lordship would not be proceeding directly to dinner after his meetings. He would be coming back to the house so I could dress him in his proper evening attire, and judging by the time, he could be here at any minute.

I rushed to my employer's bedroom and laid out the evening wear that I had thankfully had the foresight to press earlier in the day. Glancing in the mirror, I saw that my normally pale complexion was flushed from crying, but there wasn't much I could do about that on short notice. If His Lordship noticed, which was doubtful, I could always tell him that I, too, was grieving Mr. Matthew's loss, and it wouldn't be a lie. Mr. Matthew's death still weighed heavily on my mind, adding to my burdens.

A short while later, a cab pulled up outside the house and I opened the door for Lord Grantham, who looked drawn and weary after his day of legal meetings.

"I'm to dine with friends, Barrow, although truth be told I wish I could get out of it," His Lordship confessed moments later, in his bedroom, and I was pleased that he still felt free enough to confide in me as he had during my limited time as his valet.

"It must have been a very taxing day for you, M'Lord," I responded, finishing with the cuff links and moving to brush His Lordship's dinner jacket.

"Indeed it was, but I think we've got all the paperwork settled, thank God," Lord Grantham said. "We can catch the 9 o'clock tomorrow morning to Downton, and I've never been more anxious to get back home."

I nodded my agreement, even while desperately wondering how I could bring up the unlikely news that Jimmy was in hospital here in London.

"It must have been a quiet day for you, Barrow," he said pleasantly. "Everything as it should be?"

"The house seems to be in order, M'Lord, but in fact something out of the ordinary did happen earlier," I began hesitantly. I still felt a bit uncomfortable in my employer's presence after last year's incident with Jimmy, especially considering that the news I was about to convey directly involved him. His Lordship had been forgiving but I always felt the weight of what had happened hanging in the air between us.

"Oh, yes?" His Lordship raised his eyebrows and I continued a bit more boldly.

"James Kent saw a lung specialist here in town this afternoon, and apparently his health then took a turn for the worse, because he showed up at the door earlier barely clinging to consciousness. I was obliged to call the hospital and he was taken there by ambulance."

"Good gracious, nothing too serious, I hope?" Lord Grantham asked, surveying his finished ensemble in the full-length mirror.

"I really couldn't say, M'Lord," I answered, willing my voice to remain steady so as not to betray my true emotions. I had no idea what was wrong with Jimmy, and the uncertainty was killing me.

"Does the poor chap have any family to be contacted?"

"His parents are gone and he has no siblings, just some cousins," I answered, remembering the conversation when Jimmy had confided in me his lack of family. He had tried to put up a brave front, but I had seen right through the bravado. Jimmy was lonely, and as I had told him that day, I could understand his feelings all too well. Half of me had wanted to leave Jimmy alone in hospital, to punish him for his rejection of his love for me, but I now knew I could never give up on this dear young man I would never stop loving.

"I feel rather responsible for him, considering I am his employer and he seems to be alone in the world," His Lordship mused.

_Jimmy solus indu mundi. Jimmy contra mundi_.

"I know you're anxious to get back home, with Lady Mary and the others grieving," I began, hardly daring to voice the plan that had just occurred to me. "If you've no objection, I would be glad to stay in town long enough to check in on James and try to contact his cousins."

I immediately perceived the doubt that passed over Lord Grantham's face.

"I know you must be thinking of the…incident between James and me last year," I said awkwardly. "And I can assure you that there is nothing in my intentions other than concern for a man without family. James and I have established a friendly communication, and he has accepted my apologies for last year's unpleasantness."

I held my breath, sure that His Lordship was going to insist that I accompany him back to Downton, but to my relief, he slowly nodded in approval.

"As a matter of fact, your staying on here for a few days could prove to be excellent timing," Lord Grantham said to my astonishment. "I have convinced Her Ladyship that coming to London for the Season this summer as usual is just the change of pace that we all need, and I have arranged for some updates to be made to the house as a bit of a surprise for her. I'm rather uneasy with contractors coming and going with no supervision, and if you'd be willing to stay on and manage them, as well as looking in on poor James, I think Carson would be quite willing to spare you."

I could hardly believe my good fortune. I had been afraid I wouldn't even have a chance to see Jimmy at all, but this was too good to be true. The knot in my stomach over the way Jimmy and I had parted, and the sadness I felt at his rejection, in no way could change the fact that seeing him again filled me with anticipation. Call me a glutton for a punishment, I supposed.

"I would be happy to, M'Lord," I said carefully, doing everything in my power to avoid sounding overly exultant. I needed to play the part of concerned under butler and nothing more.

"We can sort out the details later when you're dressing me for bed, then," he answered. "And now I really must get this dinner over with. Will you be visiting the hospital this evening?"

"I suppose I should, but I'll return in plenty of time to set the cases to rights before your journey tomorrow," I answered as I gathered up the discarded items of clothing.

"Well, do give him my best," His Lordship said a moment later as I opened the front door for him and he proceeded toward the still waiting cab.

An hour later, I was making my way hesitantly through the hospital doors, fearful at what I would find. After inquiring at the front desk and assuring the nurse on duty that I was family (a bold-faced lie, but I had bigger things to worry about), I was led to a bed where Jimmy lay awake, which caused me both elation and apprehension. I had expected to merely look in on a sleeping Jimmy.

"Mr. Bar-Thomas!" His face lit up like a child's on Christmas morning. "I thought you wouldn't come."

"Jimmy." My voice was husky with emotion, despite my best efforts. "What did the doctor say?"

"They extracted some fluid from my lungs with a needle and I feel loads better, but there's still a chance of infection so they need to keep me here for a couple of days."

I made a mental note to consult with the doctor before departing, hopefully to obtain more details, but this news sounded cautiously optimistic.

"Never thought I'd say this, but it's so bloody boring in here that I think I would have welcomed even Alfred's conversation earlier," Jimmy grinned, and I laughed out loud.

"You must really be desperate," I countered, glad I'd brought along a newspaper, something to keep his mind busy. Maybe I should have brought him one of my books, too.

"Going to read out loud to me, are you?" Jimmy asked. "You owe me, considering how long I spent reading to you when you were in bed."

We were back, it seemed, to the easygoing friendship we'd enjoyed, which was strange indeed. I hadn't known how to proceed, and while in a way it was a relief to have the tone so light, I couldn't help but feel we were ignoring the obvious.

True to Jimmy's request, I spent the next while reading the front page aloud, and noticed frown lines appearing on his face when I finished recounting an article about a man sentenced to prison.

"I've thought a lot about prison lately," he mused. "I asked Mr. Bates about it and he said it was something he'd spend the rest of his life trying to forget. He said if not for Anna he probably would've found some way to end his life in there."

I was no great friend to Mr. Bates, but I respected the man for his efforts to help me when I'd hit rock bottom last year. And I wouldn't have wished prison on my worst enemy, from the stories I'd heard. Something told me I knew where Jimmy was going with this and I waited, muscles tense.

"Alfred told me about a chap he knew in the war who was caught with another soldier…in an unnatural way," Jimmy began, his face flushing. "They were court-martialled and sentenced to prison."

I nodded, my mouth set in a hard line. It made my blood boil to think that soldiers who had risked their lives to fight for their country could be treated in such a despicable way. And for what crime? Who the bloody hell were they hurting?

"I've been lonely, Thomas, so very lonely," Jimmy whispered and I dared to take his hand in my own after looking around to ensure no one was watching. And to my surprise, Jimmy closed his eyes and did nothing to discourage the physical contact.

"But you can't ask me to love you in that way," Jimmy continued. "I do love you, but why can't it just be a bond closer than brotherhood, like David and Jonathan in the bible?"

I couldn't help smirking. "I always thought David and Jonathan's 'bond closer than brotherhood' was none other than the very act that sent those soldiers and Oscar Wilde to prison," I said honestly, amused by Jimmy's appalled expression.

"You shouldn't speak like that about the bible," he said and he was so dead serious that I wiped the smile off my face.

"I don't understand it, Jimmy," I said. "Remember that conversation during dinner, when Alfred was going on about how glad he was to be Church of England? You said a man could be different without it making him a traitor. What you said that night led me to believe that the church didn't rule your life."

"Oh, that." Jimmy looked sheepish. "I was really just trying to rattle Alfred a bit – you know how priggish he can be."

"I see," I said slowly.

"I don't want to go to hell, Thomas," Jimmy said simply. "And I don't want to go to prison. I think men of your – our – sort should be celibate. It's the only way."

"And nothing can ever change your mind?" I asked wearily.

"Well, maybe if God himself came down and told me it was all right," Jimmy said with a watery smile, and I couldn't tell for sure if he was joking or not.

"That doesn't sound too likely," I said drily, even as the renewed pain felt like a weight crushing my chest. It was only just now really sinking in that there would be no changing Jimmy's mind – not now, not ever.

"You're not afraid of eternal damnation, then?" Jimmy asked, so wide-eyed and innocent that I momentarily felt as though I were talking to a little boy instead of a grown man.

"Look, if there is a god up there, it made me the way I am," I said flatly. "And if there's a god, then it also gave me a brain. I'd sooner use that than spend my life cowering in fear because some vicars quoting ancient texts want to tell me that being who I am is worthy of eternal torture."

Jimmy shuddered then, and I resisted the powerful urge to stroke his hair. I had drawn up the privacy curtain around his bed, but there was no telling when someone might walk in. Not to mention that the intimate gesture might not sit too well with Jimmy.

"You're brave, Thomas," Jimmy whispered, and to my utter astonishment he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. His lips were soft, warm and gentle. "And you deserve someone who won't hold you back like I would."

I shook my head silently, unable to speak thanks to the lump in my throat.

"Come and see me again tomorrow?" Jimmy asked suddenly, changing course. "Or are you heading back to Downton?"

"I'll be in town a few days overseeing some renovations at the house," I said, and Jimmy was unable to hide the pleasure in his expression.

"So this isn't goodbye, then," he said. "I suppose I'll have to be the one to leave Downton, and I was afraid tonight was to be the last night I'd ever see you."

"I didn't mean what I said, Jimmy," I said, desperation clouding my judgment. A clean break would really be best, but I couldn't face it. Not when my true love lay in front of me, vulnerable and beautiful and perfect. I couldn't face life without him.

Jimmy suddenly looked weary.

"Yes, you did mean it," he said sadly. "And you're right – we can't go on as we were, not after I admitted the truth to you. It would be the ruin of us both."

No. This wasn't happening.

"But please come and see me tomorrow," Jimmy begged, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. "I don't have to lose you just yet."

"I will," I answered woodenly, rising to leave. "But now I've got to get back before His Lordship returns from dinner, to dress him for bed."

"Sweet dreams, Thomas," Jimmy said as I fled from his bedside, heart pounding with emotion.

Before leaving the hospital, I stopped by the front desk again and gave the nurse on duty the information about where I was staying. I was now officially on file as Jimmy's emergency contact, my story about being a cousin having been believed without question.

Back at the house later that night, I lay in bed, unable to sleep. I was utterly numb after the latest conversation with Jimmy. His mind was well and truly made up, and nothing I could say or do would change that. I had never prayed in my life, not even on the battlefield, but now I found myself whispering to the thin air.

"Open his mind," I breathed. "Help him see that love is too precious to waste."

Eventually, sleep must have claimed me, because I was jarred awake to the sound of the telephone. Groggily, I left my bedroom and answered it.

"Mr. Barrow, this is Nurse Lee from the hospital. Your cousin James has taken a turn for the worse. The doctor suspects septicemia brought on by an infection of the lungs, and it's very serious. He advises that you should come right away."

Oh God, no. Not septicemia. I'd seen more than one man die of the blood infection in the war.

"Is he conscious?" I managed to ask.

"I'm afraid he's not, Mr. Barrow.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," I said shakily before hanging up the phone.

My love was in grave danger, and I had no one to confide in, I realized. Jimmy was my only friend and I was probably losing him. I'd never felt more alone in my life.

**A/N: I feel like this was my most boring chapter yet, but I hope you'll stick around as I do have some hopefully more fun things planned. Teaser: What's the real reason O'Brien turned on Thomas so heartlessly? Keep reading to discover my take on it! I also apologize for how long it took me to update – I've already begun the next chapter and I think it should be much less time before the next update. Thank you all so much for the kind reviews!**


	12. Chapter 12

The next few days were an utter blur of despair and confusion. I spent every waking minute I was allowed at the hospital. I never left Jimmy's side, holding his hand, stroking his hair, and whispering to him.

"Don't leave me, my love. Somehow we'll find a way to be together. Don't give up, Jimmy."

Through my fog of worry, I was nonetheless aware that I must keep up the façade that I was Jimmy's cousin, and the burden of making sure I did not take my affection too far was ever present. I wished I could climb in bed beside Jimmy and warm his cold, still body, but that was impossible.

I had fallen into a routine for the past few days – I would let the contractors in to work on the house improvements, then take a cab to the hospital. I was not closely overseeing them as His Lordship had thought I would, but it was out of the question to spend all day at the house when Jimmy lay in the hospital fighting for his life.

The doctor had informed me that Jimmy was young and strong, and that although septicemia was often a death sentence for infants and the elderly, his immune system had a fighting chance of overcoming the infection. How I hoped that it were true. But the sight of Jimmy's ashen, unresponsive face sent chills of terror through me every time I looked at him.

Each night, as I lay in bed in the London house, I forced myself to prepare for the worst. I wondered if life without Jimmy were even possible. Not so long ago, I had scorned the very idea of love. My experience with Phillip had hurt so badly that I had decided loneliness and isolation, putting up an impenetrable shell, were the only ways to survive. But I had been wrong. I could see now that in my anger over the way the world treated men like me, I had rejected even the people with kind intentions. Loving Jimmy had made me a better person. If the worst happened, I decided I would try to live a better life in honor of the young man I loved far more than life itself.

But the prospect crippled me with terror.

Nearly a week after Jimmy's collapse, I entered the hospital as usual only to find a flurry of confusion around Jimmy's bed. A frenzied nurse informed me that Jimmy had had a crisis during the night. His blood pressure had dropped dangerously low, and although his condition was now stabilized, he appeared to be hallucinating.

"He's feverish," the nurse explained as we hurried to Jimmy's bedside. "It could mean the end, or it could mean that his body is finally conquering the infection."

"Stay with us, Mr. Kent," another nurse was saying as she sponged Jimmy's forehead, which glistened with perspiration. "Can you hear me?"

"I understand now," Jimmy was moaning, eyes unseeing, as he tossed and turned on the pillow. "It's so simple; why can't everyone see it? It was right there in front of me all along but I was too blinded."

It was then that I noticed Jimmy's body was packed in ice. It must have been special ordered from an ice house, which would be expensive, but I knew from my medical training that it might mean the difference between life and death.

"I believe his body has fought off the blood poisoning," the doctor was telling me. "If we can conquer this fever, he may live yet."

The nurse continued sponging Jimmy's face and he continued his muttering.

"It's there…I can see all of it…it's beautiful."

I reached out and stroked Jimmy's flushed cheek.

"Stay with me, Jimmy," I whispered, not caring that the gesture was rather an intimate one for a cousin. Let the nurse think what she liked. I couldn't be imprisoned for touching a man's face.

I lost all track of time as the day wore on, sponging Jimmy's face and assisting the nurses with adjusting the melting ice as needed. It was a relief to have something to do.

At long last, I saw the telltale signs. Jimmy's pulse was becoming increasingly strong and steady and when I took his temperature, it was much closer to normal than it had been. Moments later, he began to shiver and the nurses and I worked to remove the ice. Jimmy's fever had broken. His breathing was strong and steady. He was going to live. I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath of relief.

The next morning, I entered the hospital to find Jimmy wide awake and fully back to his normal self. The doctor had informed me that his recovery was nothing short of a miracle. Jimmy's youth and good health were on his side, but blood infections were very serious, and no medication existed with which to fight it.

"Thomas!" Jimmy's grin melted my heart as it always did. I sat beside his bed and gazed upon his loveliness. It was interesting to see the beginnings of a beard and unkempt hair on this young man who so prized his appearance.

"How are you, Jimmy?" I asked.

"In desperate need of a bath," Jimmy grimaced. "I'm a fright."

"You look devastatingly handsome to me," I dared to murmur and was pleasantly surprised when Jimmy's cheeks turned pink from the compliment, but he did not protest.

"Truth be told, I'm desperate for a wank too, but I can't get any privacy around here," Jimmy admitted, and I burst out laughing. Then his expression abruptly turned serious.

"Thomas, I had a life-altering experience while I was delirious," Jimmy began. "It changed everything."

I froze, unsure where this was going.

"Don't tell me you went through a tunnel of light and saw God," I grinned, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Not God exactly," Jimmy answered thoughtfully. "But a force, an understanding beyond anything I can explain. The word "God" doesn't come close to describing it. I could see the whole world, all the wars and hatred and sorrow, and how love was the only thing stronger, the only thing that matters. I saw that it doesn't matter who loves each other, only THAT they love each other. And I saw that love is always worth it, no matter what."

This was too much to take in. Had the very delirium caused by the infection that nearly took Jimmy's life also been my salvation? This was what I'd always believed, what I had hoped Jimmy would believe, even when it seemed hopeless. I remembered my prayer and wondered if there really was a higher power.

It didn't matter. Maybe it was simply Jimmy's addled brain trying to tell him what he'd known in his subconscious all along. The point was that Jimmy was talking as though he wanted to be with me.

"Do you mean…" I began and Jimmy took my hand.

"I mean that I love you, Thomas Barrow, with every fiber of my being," Jimmy said and I felt a lump in my throat. "And I'm never letting you go."

How I wished we were alone, but we were in the middle of a bustling hospital. I stood up and pulled the privacy curtain around Jimmy's bed. Then I leaned down and placed my lips against Jimmy's. It was risky and I knew I couldn't linger – a nurse could pull the curtain back at any moment. Jimmy quietly moaned his enjoyment of the kiss.

"It's been too long since I've felt your touch," he whispered and a devilish grin crossed my face. I'd had an idea. Stepping over to the nurse's station, I explained that my young cousin was in need of a sponge bath.

"It's just that he's quite shy about the prospect of a woman bathing him," I explained to the nurse, fighting down a chuckle at my preposterous lie. "Especially one as pretty as you are." The young woman flushed at the compliment and I congratulated myself inwardly on my successful flirting.

"And seeing as how I'm his cousin and like a brother to him, and that I have medical training, he wondered whether I might be allowed to bathe him," I finished.

"Well, I don't see why not," the nurse responded. "We're quite short-staffed today so it would be a help. You know where the supplies are."

I gathered a basin of warm water, soap, and some cloths and towels, and returned to Jimmy's bedside, once again drawing the privacy curtain around the bed.

"I'm here to bathe you, Mr. Kent," I announced in a mock businesslike tone. Jimmy's eyes widened with the implications.

"Now?" he responded in disbelief. "Here?"

I removed his hospital gown with a flourish and gently moved a warm cloth across his chest. Jimmy gasped at the touch and I knew we were both thinking back to the chest liniment incident. But the memory no longer made me cringe, thank goodness. I circled the cloth over Jimmy's stomach and saw that he was rapidly becoming aroused. I continued my mock professional demeanor and moved the cloth elsewhere, washing Jimmy's neck and arms. I then moved to his upper thighs, allowing the cloth to move tantalizingly close to his groin.

By now, Jimmy's breathing had quickened and his penis was fully engorged. I couldn't help but smile wickedly again. I took my time washing Jimmy's entire body, teasing him by bringing my hands ever closer to his now throbbing cock, but never touching it.

"You're a bastard, Thomas," Jimmy said in a hoarse whisper, but he was smiling too. "You're loving this, aren't you?"

"Oh, and you're not?" I smirked, indicating the obvious evidence between his legs.

"I wish we were properly alone," Jimmy whispered, gasping as I finally touched him with feather-light hands before teasingly moving away again.

"This is just a warmup," I said. "A way to make sure everything's still working all right downstairs. I want to make love to you properly, but this will have to do for today."

I marveled at the beauty of Jimmy's body, his muscled arms and beautiful chest. I leaned over him again and kissed him tenderly, wishing with everything in me that I could climb in bed beside him and ravish his body with abandon. But I could not. Instead, I put Jimmy out of his misery by grasping his rock hard erection and expertly beginning to stroke it.

Jimmy moaned and I hissed at him, "Keep it down!" Jimmy obeyed, covering his mouth with one of the clean cloths and bucking and writhing as I expertly teased his cock. Kneeling down, I took him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the sensitive head and making Jimmy groan into the cloth he held over his mouth.

I brought him to the edge and back several times before allowing him to come, and he arched his back and spurted his release into my waiting mouth.

"I needed that," Jimmy grinned when he had recovered. "And you can be sure that your turn is coming."

Wryly, I glanced down at my own bulge. I was more than a little turned on by our little adventure, and I would need a minute to compose myself before I opened the curtain and disposed of the bathing materials.

"What will we do now, Thomas?" Jimmy asked me suddenly, serious once again. I knew he was talking about our future.

"Stay on at Downton, I suppose," I answered. "Would you be willing to take the risk?"

"I'd do anything to be with you, Thomas," Jimmy murmured and my heart overflowed with happiness. I had truly never dreamed this day would come, but I couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead for us. Life had not been kind to me and it was hard to avoid the worry that happiness of this magnitude could not last.

Moments later, I disposed of the bathing materials and spoke briefly to the doctor, who was optimistic that Jimmy would be well enough to travel to Downton in several days' time. I returned to Jimmy's bedside to find his eyelids drooping.

"You've done nothing but sleep for a week and now you're nodding off again?" I teased. But Jimmy's body had been through an ordeal and I understood. Ensuring that the privacy curtain was still in place, I leaned down and brushed my lips against Jimmy's now cool forehead.

"Sleep well, my love," I whispered.

Back at the London house, I retrieved the post from the front hall and flipped through it quickly, surprised to see an envelope addressed to Mr. Thomas Barrow, with a return address from Miss S. O'Brien. What on earth?

The letter inside was brief: "Dear Thomas, I must talk to you before I leave. I hope and trust that young James will soon be well enough to return to Downton, but if not, please write to me and I will arrange to meet you at the London house before I leave for my new post. I do not expect this to be a welcome letter after all we have been through, but I really must speak with you. My greatest fear is that I will not be able to see you before I leave in a week's time. Please write or send a telegram telling me when you expect to arrive at Downton as soon as possible.

Yours Sincerely,

Sarah O'Brien"

Puzzled, I folded the letter and placed it in my pocket. The very last person I wished to hear from had written me a mysterious letter. For the life of me, I couldn't imagine what was so important, but I would send the telegram, in part because I knew His Lordship and everyone else at Downton was anxious for news on Jimmy.

My happiness dampened only slightly by the unexpected letter, I headed out the door and toward the telegraph office with a spring in my step. My love was well again.

**A/N: First of all, I'm so sorry this has taken so long! Thank you to anyone left who's still reading this after such a long break. **

**I did do some medical research that indicated recovery from blood infection was possible, especially if someone was young and otherwise healthy. Penicillin hadn't been invented yet so it was definitely deadly a lot of the time, and maybe it's not even likely that Jimmy would have survived, but in the end this is just a work of fiction so my apologies to anyone in the medical field who may take issue with how I described Jimmy's recovery.**

**Finally, what's going on with O'Brien? And will Thomas and Jimmy be able to keep their relationship a secret at Downton? All will be revealed in the final chapter (or two, I'm not sure yet), hopefully completed before the beginning of season 4 on September 22! Thank you all again!**


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